


JLAvengers: Convergence

by Daylight_Anthropologist



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics), JLA/Avengers (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2020-10-29 07:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20792927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daylight_Anthropologist/pseuds/Daylight_Anthropologist
Summary: When an ancient artifact summoned during World War II merges two similar but disparate worlds, it falls to the heroes of each Earth to reverse the Convergence before it tears apart both universes. With time running out, the Justice League and Avengers enter a globe trotting race against evil, pitting them against sinister foes and plunging them into a well of conspiracy and intrigue.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The Marvel and DC Universes represented in this work do not correspond to any particular comics, movie, or television canon. They represent my personal amalgam of traits from different iterations of each world, my own "ideal Marvel/DC universe."

**December 23, 1944: Off the Coast of Greece**

Lashing rain and rising flames fought for what was left of the old monastery. It had been built by Orthodox Christians over the remains of an older Hellenistic temple. The monks still found little statues and idols to the old gods when they tilled the earth for their gardens. That had been before the war, before the bombs and the tanks, before Johann Schmidt. Now the monastery was a husk, wooden beams and walls riddled with holes, slowly being consumed by the fire. Schmidt watched and waited. He was not the sort of maniac who looked at the flames and saw visions of dancing women in their movements. He did not _love_ fire, but he respected the purity of it. Fire would destroy this wicked place, where the townsfolk had tried to shelter undesirables. When the fire had run its course and the rain overtook it all that would be left would be the strong foundations, ready to be excavated.

Schmidt squared his shoulders as water ran off the epaulets on his coat. “If you are wrong Zemo….”

“I am not wrong _Herr _Schmidt” Zemo said disdainfully. “Of the two of us _I_ am the one with the classical education. _I_ am the one who finds you these trinkets.”

“You seem less than enthusiastic about our prize _Herr_ Baron.”

Zemo’s eyes rolled in the little circles cut into his mask. “You seek your victory in the past. The road forward will be built with my innovations, with _Doktor_ Zola’s, not with your fanciful notions of old gods and their weapons. You would see world brought to order by the hammer of the _gods_, I would see it done by the weapons of man.”

The roof of the monastery caved in and the fire surged to the heavens for a moment before the rain beat it back down. Not too much longer now. Off in the distance rifle shots rang out as Schmidt’s men dispatched the prisoners.

The fire died enough and Schmidt walked forward, Zemo following along, both their coats slapping their boots in the harsh wind. The smell of burnt paper and melted glass filled their nostrils, only made slightly less severe by the masks they both wore. Zemo’s was a simple knit balaclava, deep purple, like the coat of arms of his family. He wore it for practical purposes, and some measure of vanity—the face of Baron Heinrich Zemo was said to be quite handsome. Schmidt’s own mask was less simple, a crimson _Totenkopf_, formed so perfectly that, to his enemies, it looked like his actual skull, bathed in blood. The face of Johann Schmidt had once been called handsome as well, but he was not so vain about it. He enjoyed the mask, he enjoyed being the _Red Skull_.

Schmidt let Zemo search the ground until he found what he was looking for. A rectangular door set into the floor, no larger than an end table. Together they lifted it, exposing a staircase below. Schmidt allowed Zemo the honor of going first, if only because he knew the Baron would readily push him down the stairs and barricade the door if they went any other way.

The room was little more than a cellar, but somebody had draped it in fine curtains and placed little statues around the walls. It had been turned into a shrine to the old gods. Schmidt was a believer in the power of the old gods, but like all good German men the old gods he believed in were those of the Asgard. When Zemo accused him of wanting to wield the Hammer of Thor he was not being hyperbolic. Schmidt dreamed of summoning righteous lighting to smite the impure from this world.

By contrast the old gods of this part of the world were unpleasant, deviant things, but Johann Schmidt, above all else, loved power, and if there was power to be had here he would find a way to turn it to the Fatherland’s benefit. He felt power in this place and he followed that feeling to the far end of the room, to a simple wooden chest with a fat lock affixed to the front.

Zemo drew his sword and struck the lock. It fell in two pieces. Schmidt lifted the lid of the chest and beheld a curved clay vase—perhaps more accurately some kind of oil or wine jar, painted and chipped and repainted again. A small square of cloth covered the mouth, tied down with twine around the neck. It was an inglorious thing, but so had he been, once upon a time. It took great men, men of vision to see the glory behind the cracked and fading paint.

“Yes, a wine vessel” Zemo scoffed. “I am sure it will have _Hauptmann_ America running for the hills. Perhaps you could smash it over his winged crown and give him a mild headache.

Schmidt stood, clutching his prize. “Quiet Zemo.”

“Touchy, touchy _Herr_ Skull.”

“No” Schmidt snapped. “Quiet. Do you still hear gunfire?”

The merry light faded from Zemo’s eyes. “They can’t still be executing the prisoners.”

Schmidt listened to the rapport intently. “Those aren’t our guns” he said, making for the door.

He and Zemo emerged, weapons drawn. Schmidt led with his Luger cocked. Zemo followed with his sword ready to skewer any who approached. They left the smoldering ruins of the monastery, the sounds of battle growing louder. The monastery rested on a hill overlooking the village, and the village, once under the quiet and watchful eye of Schmidt’s men, was now awake with the sounds of battle.

He saw a golden blur weaving between his stormtroopers. He saw the man with the British flag draped across his chest plunging daggers into the hearts of brave Teutonic soldiers and he saw _him_. The fool with the shield, his boyish assassin, and his cadre of subhuman cannon fodder. The hill was not large, Schmidt was not one to surrender. He held his ground, and to Zemo’s credit, he did likewise. They let the Americans and the British come to them.

The first was the golden streak. She appeared behind them in a burst of cold air, a revolver in each hand, an impish grin plastered across her pale face. The ground burned where her fleet feet had been. Such a strong, blond haired, blue eyed woman was wasted on the battlefield, despite her talents.

“Lady Falsworth” Zemo said, eyes narrowing as he tightened his grip on his sword.

“Spitfire” she said testily. “Don’t blame me, it was your lot who started all this ridiculousness with the funny names.”

The others came marching up the hill, in their _costumes_ with their fanciful names. _Union Jack_, Lady Falsworth’s brother, in his dark bodysuit with the red sash. The flaming android they called _The Human Torch_. Then there was _him_, decked out in his flag, blue eyes hardened at the sight of Schmidt’s work.

“_Hauptmann_” Schmidt said as he strode up to them, trailed by the young sniper.

The Captain grimaced. “Spitfire” he said, looking past Schmidt and Zemo. “Get these two in handcuffs.

“Or we just kill them here” said the sniper.

“Orders are to take them in alive” The Captain said. Then he grinned. “The SSR thinks it would be demoralizing to the Axis for the great Hydra leaders to be unmasked and locked away.”

“We could put them in the tower of London” Union Jack said as his sister fished the restraints out of one of the pouches on her belt.

Zemo and Schmidt’s eyes darted to each other. A half second of silent communication. Both men smiled beneath their masks. One did not come to command the Reich’s most elite division by being armchair commanders.

Zemo ducked as the speedster came for him, slashing a horizontal arc with his blade. She avoided it, but it bought them space. Schmidt, both hands filled by gun and jar respectively stamped the heel of his boot. A tiny radio transmitter began to beep steadily. That beeping was soon joined by the rumble of massive footsteps.

The mask was always smiling a rictus grin, but Johann Schmidt was smiling now too. The invaders looked up in stunned horror as Zola’s mechanical behemoth came over the hill, marching out of the ocean like some beast of Biblical judgement. That should keep them busy.

They attacked like a pack of wild dogs, no discipline, nor order. The Human Torch flew to the head of the beast, as high as the tower they had joked about jailing them in, and shot a steady stream of fire from his hands. Raindrops sizzled and steamed as they fell on his synthetic body.

Spitfire run up its leg, faster than the pull of gravity, the friction heat of her steps melting it’s joints. Union Jack, the Boy Sniper, and the rest of their howling pack of reprobates fired their guns like Neanderthals with spears against a god. Maybe, Schmidt admitted, the _ubermensch _could bring it down eventually, but he and Zemo would be long gone by the time that happened.

They ran down the other side of the hill, towards the ocean where they had an escape craft waiting. Schmidt held the jar close to his body, like a mother with her child. Zemo took his eyes momentarily away from their escape to regard him in a manner that indicated he was questioning the sanity of his comrade.

They were almost to the boat when something whistled past them. A circular hunk of garishly panted metal struck the ground in front of them, bounced off the rocky shore and struck Zemo in the chin, sending him careening off his feet. He landed flat on his back, looking dazed. His sword clattered against the ground just out of reach.

Captain America leaped over Zemo’s prone form, catching his shield in midair and landing in front of Schmidt. They grimaced at each other. Two men at equal and opposite ends of this war. In the days of chivalry they might have exchanged some witty words before the duel commenced. Neither was feeling particularly chivalrous towards the other.

The Captain went for the first blow, striking with his shield. Schmidt rolled out of the way and collected Zemo’s sword as he stood back up. He lunged at Captain America, who deflected the strike with the edge of his shield. So they continued, back and forth. Punching. Stabbing. Kicking. All in utter silence with only the sounds of the rain and the distant battle.

The Captain leapt and spun in the air, building momentum for a kick that took Schmidt by surprise in the side of the head. Schmidt hit the ground, catching himself with the flat of his palms. He was preparing to spring back up and continue the fight when he realized something that wiped the grin from his face. His hands were empty. The jar!

It rolled and spun between Captain American and Schmidt. The frayed twine that held the strip of cloth over the mouth snapped and—with a sound like air rapidly filling a vacuum, a sound none present in the battle had ever heard before—a flash of bright and pure blue overtook the world.

*******

When Steve Rogers woke up Schmidt and Zemo were gone, as was their boat and the jar. He stood, nursing a headache of the kind he had not felt since before he went through the Super Soldier process, and marched up the hill. When he got there he found the rest of the Invaders and the Howling Commandos rising from unconsciousness, soaked and covered in mud but otherwise unharmed.

Bucky blinked stars out of his eyes. “What the hell was that?”

Jack Falsworth tore his mask off and shook out his head. He looked at the felled Hydra robot half buried in fresh mud. “I think we won?”

“Schmidt and Zemo escaped” Steve said with a heavy sigh. “We’ll call it a draw.”

“What was that thing Schmidt was carrying?” Bucky asked, slipping his arm beneath the shoulder of a still groggy Dugan. Gabe Jones took the other shoulder and together they lifted the man to his feet.

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know, but whatever it was they got away with it. Jackie, you’re a classicist, any idea what—” Steve abruptly stopped talking as his eyes fell on Lady Falsworth.

She was the cleanest out of all of them, in fact, she looked like she had hardly been touched. She was, however, vibrating so fast she looked like an out of focus photograph. Arcs of golden lightning trailed up and down her limbs, but she did not look to be in pain.

“Jackie” Falsworth said, moving calmly towards his sister. “Are you alright?”

Jackie Falsworth, the superhero known as Spitfire, broke into a wide grin. “I feel bloody fantastic.”

*******

The same day, the same time, the same place, many, _many_ worlds away another group of soldiers and heroes lifted themselves out of the mud. They too had a red and blue champion with a shield with them, and she too surveyed the now empty battlefield with an uneasy eye.

“Damnit” said Captain Trevor, spinning in futile circles to find any sign of Nacht or Krieger. “Does anybody see them?”

“Nothing” called Zinda Blake from the other end of the battlefield. “Blackhawks, sound off, let us know you’re alive.”

“Steve” Diana of the Amazons said, her voice the only calm one among the confused band of warriors calling out their names. She was kneeling in the mud, looking at an object that had not been there before. It was a jar, the kind they used on Themyscira to hold wine and oils. It radiated power.

Steve came over to her and looked at the jar. “What is that?”

Diana hovered her fingers over the clay. It radiated heat, and something else. She looked up at Steve. “Something dangerous.” Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.


	2. Air Traffic

**New York City: Present Day**

Some days, when the weather was just right, when the sun was just dimmed enough by the clouds, and the air was warm and the breeze was cool, swinging between the buildings of New York City was the best feeling in the world. Of course, to Peter Parker it was always the best feeling in the world, but on days like that it was something transcendent. 

This was not one of those days.

The wind fought him at every turn, throwing his webs off course, slamming him into the sides of buildings where confused and startled office workers got to see Spider-Man pressed against their windows like a teenager who had just fallen off his skateboard.

New York had its share of bad weather, but this felt like something else. There was a low level hum in the back of his head, the telltale sign of his Spider-sense warning him that something was just generally wrong—nothing he could dodge or web up—just a feeling in the air like the world was not quite right. Or it meant he had forgotten one of the many payments he was overdue on, that also happened sometimes.

He made a sharp turn past the Flatiron building and suddenly his Spider-sense flared up. _That_ was the feeling of imminent, specific, danger and he let his enhanced reflexes take over, twisting his body out of the way as a plume of fire shot through the spot where he had just been. Peter streamlined his body and shot downward, landing in a crouch atop a parked car.

The source of the plume of fire had been that bank across the street. It was being robbed. Peter rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time for this he was late for---Oh wait, he though. He wasn’t late for anything. MJ was at the _Rand_ building for a press conference. Aunt May was working at the F.E.A.S.T. Shelter. He had finished grading all his tests. This was a first. He smiled under his mask. _Okay,_ he thought to himself. _I have time for some fun._

He jumped off the car and sauntered up to the bank. The doors had been blown off, along with most of the wall around them, letting him get a good view inside. None of the robbers seemed to have noticed him, so the flames were probably a misfire. He laid eyes on a burly guy with a shaved head, an orange and yellow padded suit, and what looked like some kind of hi-tech flame thrower.

The rest of the crew were all in similar padded suits, without much cohesive theming. One was dressed in gold and circled the hostage bank patrons on what looked like ice skates that sent sparks across the floor. Another was wearing a blue, fur lined parka and carrying something that—based on clumsy theming, Peter had to assume was an ice gun. The last one was dressed in orange and green, and dual wielded—well maybe regular guns—maybe something weird. He had never seen them before, and they looked pretty confused for a bunch of people pulling a heist.

Cheap hoods with fancy new toys, he figured. This could either be really fun or super dangerous. Better not to surprise them.

“Excuse me” he called out as he approached, waving his arms. “Uncoordinated robbers.”

All four heads turned to him, which was good, it meant they were not focusing on the hostages. Peter stepped onto the sidewalk and stood, surveying the mess with his hands on his hips.

Flamethrower turned to Probable-Ice Gun with a dumfounded expression. “You said New York didn’t have any superheroes.”

Probable-Ice Gun looked just as nonplussed. “They—uh—they don’t as far as I was aware.”

“Then who’s that?” Orange and Green scratched his head with the barrel of one of his fancy looking pistols.

The woman skidded to a stop. “He looks like one of the Kryptonians. Same colors.”

“Oh I’m not effing with Kryptonians” Orange and Green said, throwing his arms into the air. “No effing way.”

“He looks like Black Spider” Flamethrower said. His voice was gravely. He reminded Peter of Flint Marko.

The Woman in Skates rolled her eyes. “He’s not in black.”

This was fun, but the hostages were scared. Peter took another step, bringing himself inside the trashed bank. The four robbers all tensed up, aiming their weapons.

“Oh thanks for noticing me again. You know it’s very rude to talk about someone like they’re not even in the room.”

“You weren’t in the room, you were outside, now you’re in the room” Flamethrower said.

Peter rolled his eyes. “That—is actually an excellent point. Listen, you seem new, so I’m gonna give you the run down. I’m Spider-Man—”

“I told you” Flamethrower said.

Peter snapped his fingers at them. “Hey, stop interrupting me. I’m Spider-Man, somehow you haven’t heard of me—or any other New York superheroes—which is weird. Anyway, I handle most of the bank robberies in the city. I have the proportional strength, speed, and agility of a spider, and webs which do not come out of fur easily” he said, pointing at Probable-Ice Gun. “So, you wanna pack it in before someone meaner shows up—like Daredevil or Squirrel Girl.”

There was a pregnant pause as the four robbers looked at him and he looked back at them. Then Probable-Ice Gun shrugged his shoulders.

“Sam” he said.

“Yep” said Orange and Green with a nod.”

Peter’s Spider-Sense flared up again as Orange and Green (Sam apparently) aimed his guns at Peter’s feet. Peter jumped, clinging to the ceiling as the reflective marble floor opened up into a portal that sucked in the little water cooler that had been standing on it. Peter looked at the four and his evaluation changed. They were surprised, they were out of their element, but going by the way they fell into formation without the need for more than nods and called out names they were not amateurs.

Portal Gun—A.K.A. Orange and Green—A.K.A. Sam apparently—was clearly the most pressing target. Portals were a nightmare to work with. Peter had been glad when The Spot had started bothering Daredevil instead. He launched himself off the ceiling, shooting like a bullet at the robber—

And getting kicked in the back of the head with the heal of a skate for his troubles. He landed in a tumble and stopped, clinging to the floor, body crouched low. Across the floor Ice Skate Woman dug her blades into the marble and came to a stop, grinning wolfishly. She cracked her knuckles.

“Don’t hit Sam” she said flatly. She shot forward in a way that really should not have been possible with skates on marble but who was Peter to judge what was and was not possible. She leaped into the air, ready to deliver another flying kick.

Peter bent backwards as the blade sailed over his chest and chin and he swore he heard that cliché movie _shing_ as it happened. He backflipped away and stuck to the Teller’s Window behind him.

He cracked a grin they couldn’t see but his tone of voice made clear was present. “Guess I’m a little faster than you’re all used to.”

There was a feeling in his ribs like he had been punched by Iceman and he found himself sprawled against the floor, stars dancing in front of his eyes. The robbers moved in formation to surround him.

“Not really” said Now Confirmed-Ice Gun.

Okay, reevaluating again. Not only were these professionals, but they were professionals who knew how to use their equipment. How he never met them before. How had they never heard of him? Scratch that. How did they think New York of all places was free from superheroes. Jersey maybe, that kid was new, but Manhattan. This was all too weird.

Spider-Sense told him that this was not the time to analyze. He bent sideways as another blast of—not ice actually, it was blue light and it was cold but it wasn’t ice—shot past him. When it hit the marble, it turned to a fine reflective sheen of ice. Peter Parker was a fast enough learner to know what that meant. He leaped up as Sam took aim and blinded him with a burst of webbing. Sam made some uncouth but understandable remarks that were cut short when Peter kicked him in the chin and sent him sprawling.

Another flash of Spider-Sense and he ducked another bladed kick. Ice Skate Woman was gritting her teeth now. Good. Crooks with tech got sloppy when they got angry, forgot the kind of firepower they were holding.

“Okay” he said as he dodged her strikes. “We have to have someone in common. You seem like the type who would know Shocker. You know Shocker—good old Herman?” Peter kicked her across the room but she glided across the marble. Some kind of mag-lev tech maybe. “Tinkerer?” He asked, flipping out of the way of a fire blast. “What about Mysterio? You know him? Name of Quentin Beck, bad haircut, not bad looking otherwise.”

It was working. Flame Thrower took a swing at him instead of trying to roast him. “You talk too much.”

Peter caught the punch and deflected into Sam’s webbed up face. Flame Thrower’s fist stuck to Sam’s face and Peter sent them both flying against the wall, sealing them there with webbing.

“So I’ve been told.”

Confirmed-Ice (but apparently not actually “ice”) Gun and Ice Skate Woman rounded on him.

“Listen” Said Confirmed—Parka—Peter was changing his nickname to Parka. “Something went wrong here. We don’t want to kill you. We try to make a point of not killing Capes.”

Peter’s face screwed up beneath his mask. _Capes? _From context he guessed it meant Superheroes, but he had never heard the expression before. How many heroes even wore capes? Like two. More baddies wore capes than—

Peter dodged another blast from the cold gun. It shattered the teller’s window behind him. Parka and Ice Skate Woman advanced on him.

“Lenny this is getting embarrassing” she said.

“Oh like you’ve managed to hit him. Obviously he’s harder to surprise than the Flash.”

“Okay seriously who’s the—”

Ice Skates came at him fast and mean. He had to dodge three good jabs before he got his web-shooters aimed. The first burst blinded her. The second stuck her feet to the floor. Parka grimaced as he took aim with his gun, but he didn’t want to fire with his partner in the way. It felt dirty but Peter stayed behind her. Better than getting hit again.

“I don’t know what kind of Cape you are, but if you hurt her….”

Peter held up his palms. “Put down the gun” he said softly. “Everyone else is down. You’re obviously confused. Just put it down. I won’t hurt her.”

Parka—A.K.A. Confirmed-Ice (but apparently not actually “ice”) Gun—A.K.A. Lenny began to lower his arm, then seemed to think better of it and swung up again. Peter shot a Hail Mary web ball at the barrel and it splattered across, blocking anything that might come out. Lenny reacted instantly. He pulled his finger away from the trigger and holstered the weapon, then put his hands on his head. Peter had been right, he was smart. He webbed Lenny’s hands to his head. Sirens started to get closer.

Peter made for the hole in the wall. “Listen, I’m gonna have someone check in in you guys.” He shot a web line onto the next tall building from the bank. “You seem pretty out of it.” With a final two fingered salute Peter was in the air.

The weather had gotten worse and visibility was starting to become a problem, one of many. Those guys had gone down easy compared to some of Peter’s worse foes, but they still had the potential to be problems for some of the other street level heroes in the city. He wished the street level guys had some way of sounding off to each other like the Avengers did. The new one in Jersey City had given him a cell number but she also seemed about sixteen and he really did not want to drag a kid into this. _Huh_, he thought. Maybe that was why nobody had wanted to work with him when he started out. _Shatter my carefully crafted persecution complex why don’t you_, he thought.

Rain started coming down in torrents. He needed to get inside and he was too far from home. _The Baxter Building_. Reed and Sue would let him crash for a while, and maybe they could spread the word about the confused robbers. At the very least he could use Reed’s lab to—

Peter got distracted by a girl. That had happened a lot when he was in high school, and the first year of college. He had mostly grown out of it. He was after all, a happily monogamous man with a fantastic woman in his life. So it was not so much that he was distracted by how attractive this girl was—thought she was that—but rather by how she was hovering at his eye level, some forty feet off the ground, with her arms crossed and a bright red cape flapping behind her.

Tony Stark would have had something suave to say. Peter said “Aaaaahhhhh!” and quickly careened to the left, landing roughly on a nearby rooftop to avoid a midair collision, scaring the hell out of a flock of pigeons.

The woman in the cape hovered over to him and landed softly on the roof, looking at him with a mixture of concern and suspicion. Yeah, that was a look he was used to. Now that he wasn’t distracted by her flying he was able to get a better look at her. Mid-twenties maybe, about his age anyway. A bit under six feet. Wavy blond hair, blue eyes, some kind of textured blue bodysuit with a big Red “S” on the front.

He got up and blinked the stars out of his eyes. “You know you can’t just block the thoroughfare” he said groggily.

She tilted her head and looked at him quizzically. “I didn’t know New York had any superheroes.”

Peter rubbed his head. “Why do people keep saying that?” He looked at her. Whoever she was she was a woman used to commanding the space. Also, her eyes were not just blue, they were Blue. Like, almost unnaturally. She didn’t seem to have any kind of propulsion tech on her, not much room to hide anything on that suit, but he couldn’t rule it out—and that was about as much as he could deduce just by looking at her. Time for phase two. “I’m Spider-Man” he said, holding out his hand.

She shook it. “Nice to meet you Spider-Man.” She had a country girl smile, warm and genuine. Peter waited for her to introduce herself, but they just fell into awkward silence. Finally she seemed to take the hint. “Kara” she said, a little disappointed at not being recognized, he thought, but hiding it well. “Supergirl.”

“Ah, the S” Peter said, gesturing to his own chest.

She gave a _sure, fine_ shrug. “You’ve—you’ve really never heard of me?”

“Lot of that going around today” Peter muttered. “Are you one of the Canadian superheroes? I know Toronto is full of them. You with Alpha Flight or something?”

She blinked. “I don’t know what that is. I’m from National City, well I’m from—it’s a long story. I’m based in National City.”

_Do I have a concussion_, Peter wondered. That was the second time somebody had mentioned a city he had never heard of and he had aced World Geography in High School. Then a thought dawned on him. “You know a handful of bank robbers with fancy tech? Some kind of portal gun, flamethrower, cold gun—Ice skates” he said with a shrug.

She nodded. “Those sound like the Rogues. Flash said they disappeared from Central City.”

Peter spread his arms. “Okay, it’s been a long day and people keep talking about cities I’ve never heard of and….” And it clicked into place. “Oh crap” he said, running his palm across his face.

At the same moment Kara seemed to have the same realization. Her face twisted into an irritated frown.

“I’m in another dimension.”

“You’re from another dimension” Peter said at the same time. He sighed and slumped his shoulders as he went to the edge of the roof. “You’re not secretly evil right?” He asked, aware of how pointless a question that was.

“No” she answered. “Are you?”

“Not today” he said wearily. “C’mon, I’ll take you to Reed Richards. He’ll get you home.”

He started swinging and she flew alongside him, matching his speed with the expression of someone slowing down to keep pace with a child. Peter had scant personal experience with other dimensions. It was mostly the Fantastic Four’s thing. Apparently they had gotten a communication about some big call to arms of Spider people across the multiverse, but he had been in bed with the flu and MJ had taken his phone precisely so he wouldn’t go off Spider-Manning.

“So” he said, trying to make small-talk to break what was becoming an awkward silence. “Supergirl? There a hyphen in that?”

“One word” she said. She narrowed her eyes. “You have a hyphen in _Spider-Man_?”

“Yeah” Peter said, “but oddly enough it’s between the S and the P.”

He struck the side of the Baxter Building’s fortieth story window and felt around for the little keypad they had installed for him. He found it and the window opened, admitting them to the mercifully heated Baxter Building.

Kara flew in after him and landed on the tile, staring awkwardly at the wet footprints they were both leaving. Peter walked down the hallway. He could hear voices from the main lab and he followed them. The door was open.

“Hey Reed” he said as he entered. “I’ve got a….” He petered out as he saw that the lab was already quite full. The Avengers were there—and some more people that Peter had never met, including a burly gentleman in a suit much like Kara’s. “Oh” Peter said. “So I’m the last one to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed Spider-Verse but as part of my desire to keep each Marvel and DC Universe as streamlined as possible, I wanted to give the impression that they've yet to have any big, world shaking crossover events yet or perhaps at least that the FF and the Avengers have, but the street level guys still basically keep to their neighborhoods.


	3. Like Ghostbusters?

**The Baxter Building**

National City had definitely been there when she had left and she didn’t remember going through any portals. When she had run into Spider-Man she was worried she might be going crazy, so in that way it was a relief to see Kal and the rest of the Justice League, however in a much more immediate way she had no idea what was going on and these other heroes who seemed to know Spider-Man were not looking overly trusting. She decided if that were the case she’d like to stand with the people she knew and wedged herself in between Barry and Dinah.

“You understand why this might be hard to believe?” Batman said. He was trying to look intimidating, but that was always difficult when one was talking to a stretchy man.

The one Spider-Man had called Reed had his hands on scientific instruments yards away from each other, and his neck stretched another several feet up to look at a display screen.

“Not the parallel dimensions you understand” Kal said, ever the mediator. “But usually when that happens we can tell.” He looked to Flash for confirmation. Barry nodded a vigorous _yes_.

“Oh well you’re not actually in another dimension per-say” Reed said, shrinking his neck back down to regular size.

“We’re not?” Kal said.

“They’re not” Said a man in some kind of star spangled tactical armor.

“No” Reed’s arms snapped back into place and he spun in his desk chair so he was facing everybody. “Not exactly. It’s more like our worlds got pushed together. An amalgam if you will.”

“Bullshit” scoffed someone that Kara had to guess was called Purple Arrow. He elbowed a man in red and black, with a shiny helmet and said “you buying this Scott?”

_Scott_ wavered his palm in the air. “Kinda.” He shrugged. “The physics is a little beyond me, but from what Hank and Janet say it’s not _impossible_.”

Reed hit some buttons on his computer and the biggest screen displayed a map of the world. A few more keystrokes and it zoomed in on Eastern Europe. Reed extended his arm to tap the high screen.

“See that, that little country that’s suddenly wedged in between Sokovia and Latveria.”

“Kasnia” Dinah said. “I don’t know the other two though.”

Spider-Man raised his hand. He had his chin down like a shy child in the classroom. Reed gave him a wry look.

“You don’t have to raise your hand P—Spider-Man.”

Spider-Man dropped his hand back to his side. He stood apart from most of what Kara assumed was this earth’s Justice League. She wondered if they didn’t like him, or if maybe he was just new. He sounded her age, but the way he talked about other dimensions and new villains suggested he had been at this for a while. Surely he must have apprenticed with someone, or been part of the local teen hero team.

“Okay, so, like, if the world has grown a few new countries—and based on what happened earlier today a few new cities, is terrain being displaced or….”

“No” Reed said, and at this he looked concerned in that way geniuses did, where you knew it was something really terrible, because their regular thoughts were scary enough. “The Earth—and most likely this is a galactic phenomenon as well although I’m waiting to hear back from Captain Danvers or the Guardians to be sure—has expanded. My calculations and projections are telling me it’s going to keep expanding.”

The red white and blue man rested his hand on his belt buckle. The way he stood made him look like Kal, even though he was a bit smaller the commanding air of their presences was uncannily similar.

“Doctor Richards.” He had a clipped, professional way of speaking. Definitely military—it explained the suit. “Am I right in assuming that’s bad?”

Reed blew out a breath that seemed to deflate his whole body. He looked over the League—or at least the representatives that had shown up. Kal, Batman, and Wonder Woman stood front and center. Barry and Dinah hung out by the side. Atom stood beside Kal. John Stewart and J’onn stood in the back, surveying everything.

“Who here knows basic quantum physics? I need to know how best to explain this.”

Atom, Barry, and Batman raised their hands on her side, as did Kara herself. Among the other team, the one they had called Scott raised his hand, along with a red and gold robot (possibly this earth’s Red Tornado) and Spider-Man.

“Explain away Doctor” Batman growled.

Reed steepled his fingers. “Okay, so our universes are not closely related. My guess is that every time you’ve had experiences with alternate dimensions they’ve been similar to your own?” A general din of agreement went up. “That’s because closely linked universes will be easier to cross between.”

“Birds of a feather” Dinah said.

Kara gave her a _dude, seriously _look.

“Exactly” Reed said. “Our worlds—the energy signatures of our worlds—they don’t match up. Now, at the best of times, the merging of two universes is messy business.”

“This has happened before?” The military man asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, I can’t say for certain, but the math certainly presents a compelling case. Now, in the event that two closely related worlds were to merge, the damage would be minimal, the inhabitants might not even notice.” He took a deep breath. “However, in the event that two worlds with such staggeringly different energy signatures as our own were to merge…. We could be looking at total universal collapse.”

A heavy silence fell over to two teams. Feet were shuffled and capes adjusted. In the corner, Spider-Man began to raise his hand then quickly pulled it back down.

“Reed, when you say _total universal collapse_?”

“Complete protonic reversal.”

“Like _Ghostbusters_?” Spider-Man asked.

Reed nodded gravely. “An unconventional but apt comparison.”

Atom tried to stifle a fearful grin. It was some people’s natural response to terrible news but it would look bad in front of these new heroes. “If the energy signatures in our universes are as different as you say, how could they have merged in the first place?”

“Well it has to be deliberate” said Flash. The room’s collective gaze turned to him, making his next words come out slightly stilted. “Two positively charged magnets don’t come together without hands pushing them.”

“Do you think it’s Thawne?” Kara asked. “Or could it be some kind of Apokaliptan science?”

The military man made a small noise in the back of his throat, and it was enough to get everyone’s attention back on him.

“If you’d be willing to share intel with us, and gather up whatever experts you have in the field, we can work on pinpointing the origin of this attack. We’re all in unfamiliar territory here, and our best bet is to work together.”

Diana stepped away from Kal and Batman, approaching the soldier. “What is your name?”

“Captain Steven Rogers.” A sheepish grin played across his face. “Around here they call me Captain America. I didn’t pick the name.”

Diana returned the grin. “The call me Wonder Woman. I am Diana of Themyscira. You may call us the Justice League and we would be honored to assist you.”

Batman crossed his arms and scowled, which was about as friendly as he got. “We’ll call in our best minds on the subject of interdimensional travel. Firestorm. Mister Terrific.”

“We’ll do likewise. Scott, get in touch with the Pyms. Reed, they like you in Wakanda, see if Princess Shuri is available. You think of anyone else you call them in. Start scanning for whatever it is you scan for that might show who did this and how we can fix it. In the meantime we should take inventory of how our two worlds merged. You have people in space?”

“The Green Lantern Corp” said John Stewart, stepping forward with his own military bearing. “And a few others.”

Captain Rogers nodded. “Get in touch with them and keep them updated as to the situation. We’ll do the same with our own outer space allies.”

Batman narrowed his eyes, going from his friendly glare to his suspicious glare.

“You’re giving a lot of orders.”

“Anyone wants to challenge with a better idea they’re welcome to it.”

Kara noted that it was a legitimate offer. The same words out of Batman’s mouth would have been an implicit order to shut up.

“Can you give my team a minute alone before we start?”

“No—” Said the red and gold robot.

Captain Rogers held up a hand. “We’d be more than happy to. Avengers, give them the room.”

Doctor Richards, who had gone back to his monitors and his instruments the second he was no longer part of the conversation made a little _harrumph_ sound.

“If you could _all_ leave my lab there are several empty conference rooms in the building. HERBIE can show you the way.”

A tiny floating robot with a holographic face led the Justice League out of Doctor Richards’ lab and into a bland looking carpeted conference room. Everyone took seats in rolling office chairs, which, while it looked frankly ridiculous, made up for that fact by being extremely comfortable. The robot left and returned moments later with a tray of pastries, which Flash hungrily dug into before a harsh look from Batman stopped him mid-Danish.

“Superman?”

Kal looked over the food, analyzing it on a microscopic level. “It’s clean. And for what it’s worth, while there’s something off-putting about this world I trust them.”

“As do I” Diana said. “But I sense Batman has different notions.”

“You don’t trust them?” John asked, nibbling on a muffin.

“I think this is the part where Batman says _I don’t trust anybody_” Dinah said, propping her boots on the tabletop. “

“They call themselves _The Avengers_” Batman said. “That doesn’t strike you as overly aggressive?”

“That is hypocrisy of a staggering magnitude coming from you” Kal said.

So many members of the Justice League had disclosed their identities to one another. Everyone at this table knew that Kal was actually Clark Kent. Hell, most of them had attended his and Lois’s wedding, but Batman…. Maybe that was why he didn’t take to these _Avengers_. Throughout the meeting they had referred to each other by first names. They were open about their identities. Nobody on the League knew who Batman was, and even his ever expanding group of partners and apprentices, most of them more personable than he was, never divulged any clues. The first Batgirl had once told Kara that Batman did not trust anyone who didn’t have secrets.

“It would be smart not to get outnumbered by them” Dinah said. “I’m not saying we’re gonna end up fighting, but we should keep any team-ups equal.”

“Agreed” Batman said.

“J’onn” Kara said, looking at the stoney faced Martian. “You’ve been quiet this whole time.”

J’onn pushed his chair back from the table. “People are beginning to notice” he said with the forced calm of someone fighting a migraine. “They are not taking it well.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, this is all sort of an amalgam of what I like best of different versions of these characters. So there is a National City and Supergirl lives and works from there--but there was also a Justice League already formed when her rocket landed. The fact that she is close with J'onn, Flash and Black Canary among the Leaguers is also a nod to the CW-verse even though I would hesitate to say that anything strictly following the events of Supergirl, Flash, or Legends has happened.
> 
> Reed and the rest of the Fantastic Four know Peter's identity, but the Avengers do not. Because the FF consider themselves to be explorers and scientists more than Superheroes, they're sort of the bridge between the street level people like Spider-Man and the Avengers level heroes.
> 
> Reed is certainly correct about different worlds merging peaceably in the past without anyone noticing, though it's happened to the DC world more often than Marvel's.


	4. New Neighbors

**Sokovia**

Since 1915 the _Daily Bugle_ had been the most prestigious newspaper in North America. One week ago it had gained a major competitor, out of nowhere, in the form of the _Daily Planet_, an equally old and venerable newspaper with an equally tenacious staff. In North America at least, it was easy to see who had originated in which world by seeing whether they were going to the _Bugle_ or the _Planet_ for their news.

Pietro Maximoff remembered when Transia and Wundagore had merged into the nation of Sokovia. He and Wanda were practically babies at the time, but he remembered the fights that would break out in the city center when roving gangs of Transian radicals would spot someone reading the one of the Wundagore papers—or when the reverse happened. It had been bloody on all sides.

The Avengers and the Justice League were trying to keep things from becoming that bloody again. It was not easy. Captain America and the Superman were leading their teams around the United States, preaching peace and patience. _Stark Industries_ and something called _Star Labs _promised that they were working on ways to fix the problems. They were working on the science, they left the political issues to the superheroes. Pietro and Wanda had been sent to tour Eastern Europe.

They were Roma, and Jewish, and Mutants and none of those things were popular in a lot of countries, but they fact that they were Avengers made them instant celebrities in most places. They were the Balkans’ favorite native son and daughter. As part of the unity effort they were sent on this grand tour with two members of the Justice League, the one they called Wonder Woman, and another speedster known as the Flash, a name Pietro found slightly ridiculous but thought it tactless to mention to the man’s face—well, Wanda found it tactless—funny, but tactless.

Their Quinjet touched down in the woods that used to be Sokovia’s border with Latveria. Now it was their border with Kasnia. Wonder Woman had said Kasnia was a country in turmoil. They had been through regents and royalty and before their worlds had merged had been on the verge of civil war. The sudden appearance of two new neighbors had actually quieted tensions, if only because they were now united against the threat of Pietro and Wanda’s encroaching universe. Pietro wanted to laugh. It was ridiculous for any nation to fear tiny Sokovia, which was only barely picking itself up after attacks by Nazis, Soviets, and robots.

Latveria on the other hand….

“What can you tell me about this monarch and his country?” Wonder Woman asked as they stepped down the gangplank of the Quinjet. A few yards away they could see the Sokovian, Kasnian, and Latverian ambassadors. “Is it as much a threat as your Doctor Richards and Stark say, or is their assessment blinded by vendetta?”

“They are small” Wanda said. “But prosperous. For many years they were ruled by a Soviet puppet, even after the collapse of the Soviet Union. This government was eventually overthrown by a native son by the name of Victor von Doom.”

“He claims to be the last descendent of the old ruling family” Pietro added. “Which may be true or may not but since he took the country it has become an absolute dictatorship.”

“An effective one though” Wanda said. “Doom is mad, but he grew up Roma and saw his people jailed and murdered by the old government. He demands political loyalty, but he persecutes no race or ethnicity.” Wanda paused and then added “he is complicated.”

They came upon the meeting spot, an old stone circle, erected by some long lost tribe for communion with their gods. They saw the three emissaries and Pietro’s speedy heart got a little faster.

“He is here” he whispered so only his compatriots could hear it.

Victor von Doom was tall. It should have been a myth, an exaggeration that did not hold up when you met him in person but he seemed to be almost seven feet tall. Surely some of it was the armor. Stark’s armor added almost a foot to his height. Doom stood tall and powerful, like a baroque painting come to life. His emerald cloak swayed in the light breeze and his hood was drawn back, showing the rivets and craftsmanship of his helmet and through the tiny rectangles in his mask, his eyes, beetle black eyes that seemed to take in everyone.

He was almost as tall as Wonder Woman.

The four of them, the superhero mediators, waited for the assembled delegates to sit. Doom was first, he commanded that respect even from the Kasnian minister, who went second, saving as much face as he could. The Sokovian went last, putting up a brave face. You had to be able to manage that when you were the foreign relations minister to Latveria’s neighbor.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet” Wonder Woman said. The Kasnian and Sokovian ministers were immediately enthralled. It wasn’t just beauty. A lot of people were beautiful. A lot of people were tall. Far fewer people could make people listen with rapt attention in just five words. “On behalf of the Justice League and the Avengers, working in concert with SHIELD and the United Nations, we would like to update you on the situation as it stands.”

“The situation” Doom said. Pietro had never heard him speak, and he was surprised at his accent. He sounded like anybody else from their village. Years of ruling a country and he had not even attempted to lose his accent. “The situation is that you have placed your lives in the hands of Reed Richards and other lesser men. The world crumbles more every day and we waste time with peace talks in the woods.”

“I believe we allowed Latveria to pick the meeting place” Wonder Woman said. “If you would like to help with the separation we would welcome your input. I am told the nations of Wakanda, Markovia, and two separate Atlantean kingdoms have dedicated resources to the effort.”

“Latveria follows no one. I will keep my people safe from cataclysm. I came here to extend an offer to my new neighbors. You may join Latveria, submit to the rule of Doom, and survive, or continue to place your trust in Reed Richards and perish.”

“There are other scientists working on the problem” Flash said. “It’s not just Doctor Richards.”

Doom stood up and walked a few yards away. “He’s the only one who matters, and even he cannot see the full extent of the problem.” There was a sound like a jet engine firing up and Doom shot into the sky, cloak fluttering behind him.

The Sokovian Minister looked at Pietro and Wanda, her gaze almost pleading. “We don’t want to join Latveria” she said. “But the populace grows restless.”

“Nobody wants a war in the midst of this emergency” the Kasnian Minister said. “But if Kasnia is attacked we will retaliate.”

“Nobody will be attacked” Wonder Woman said. “You have my word.”

“Then you can see who has been holding up in the castle on the border” The Kasnian Minister said, his tone of accusation clear.

“_Schloss Zemo_?” Wands asked.

The Sokovian Minister nodded. “Sokovian intelligence has picked up activity surrounding the castle. Given it’s history with Hydra we would just as soon have The Avengers look into it than risk any of our military on what could be a suicide mission.” The comment was addressed to Wonder Woman and her team, but directed at the Kasnian minister.

It was plain to see where this was headed. Wonder Woman did the best thing she could and agreed to look at the castle. Hopefully proving that Sokovia was not preparing for war would placate Kasnia, and routing and Hydra activity in the old castle would put Sokovia at ease. It was a win-win, except, Pietro noted to himself, if Sokovia was actually was preparing for war.

They left for the Quinjet, but mostly just to appear professional to the two ministers, who drove away confident that the superheroes were handling the problem. In reality _Schloss Zemo_ was well within walking distance, especially with two speedsters on the team. Wonder Woman retrieved a Greek style sword and shield and strapped both to her armor. The only weapon she had taken to the meeting was a length of golden rope that she had called _The Lasso of Hestia_, whatever that meant.

Nobody else had any weapons to retrieve, so they started through the woods to the castle. Bits of WWII era weaponry laid rusting among the trees and Wonder Woman looked at it with a palpable melancholy.

“You had World Wars as well” she said, and for the first time since meeting her Pietro heard sadness in her voice. “Our worlds are different in many ways, but similar in many as well.”

The statement itself did not stun Pietro. It was more for herself than for them. Like Captain America she seemed and old warrior, who had seen too much of the bad side of humanity but still clung to the potential for good. What stunned Pietro was that the sentiment had been delivered in perfect Romani, and not just Romani, but the particular Sokovian dialect.

“She says that her people were meant to be the bridge between cultures” Flash said, joining Pietro at the front of the procession. “So they gods—the Greek gods—granted them mastery over every language.”

Pietro blinked in surprise again and then grinned. “You’re talking at my speed.”

Flash smiled. “Your sister said you have a hard time interacting with people because from your point of view everyone is so slow. That’s why I volunteered to be on the team with you. I know a lot of other speedsters and I thought you might like to have a conversation with someone who didn’t talk like the caterpillar from _Alice in Wonderland_.”

To Wanda and Wonder Woman the conversation would have sounded like a movie in fast forward, but to Pietro it felt like getting to hear correctly for the first time in years.

“There are others in your world? Many others?”

“My nephew and my grandson, plus some from other Earths who I meet with every so often.”

Pietro raised his eyebrows. “You don’t look quite old enough—not to be rude—my father is almost one hundred and he looks—how old are you?”

“Twenty-seven” Flash said. “But there’s time travel involved. You know how it is.”

“Not really” Pietro said, shaking his head. “Time travel is more the Fantastic Four’s domain. We don’t really muck with it.”

Flash looked taken aback. “You’re pretty fast from what I’ve seen. Usually when you hit those speeds the Speed Force latches onto you and gives you a little taste of time travel, just as a warning.”

“The _what_-force?”

“The Speed Force. That’s what we call it on my Earth, and most of the other ones I’ve been to. It’s the dimension and energy field that links all speedsters, gives us our powers, shields us and the people around us from the dangers of speed so we don’t give anyone whiplash or disintegrate them when we run with them.” His mask showed a lot of his face, and so his expressions were easy to read. Right now he was looking at Pietro like he was a doctor who had just diagnosed a terminal illness. “You don’t have the Speed Force in your world?”

Pietro thought back to people he had hurt trying to rescue, and to a Hydra agent he had disintegrated to protect the rest of the team.

“No” he said simply.

He took off ahead of them team, shooting through the forest. He needed to be alone with his thoughts. Alone was all he had been since he was thirteen and his powers had manifested—okay that was not strictly true. He had friends and he had conversation with people, but every interaction that he had took place like they were on one end of a long hallway and he was on the other. He had only ever met one other Speedster. She had been a teammate of Captain America during WWII and now served with Excalibur in England. They didn’t hang out much. She was a vampire now. It was a whole thing.

He stopped at the edge of a small rocky outcropping. Just ahead, raised upon its own defensible cliffside was _Schloss Zemo_, ancestral home of the _Zemo _family, a holdover from when Sokovia had been part of the Austro-Hungarian empire. It had been a Nazi fortress during WWII and then decades later had served as an outpost of Hydra, continuing Zemo and the Red Skull’s work. The last time Pietro had been inside it was to fight Ultron. He had almost died and that, combined with the place’s evil history made him want to burn it to the ground. He had only relented when the Sokovian government made it clear that they planned to use it to bolster tourism. The little country could have used the economic boost, but so far nothing had come of it.

The others caught up with him. He avoided looking at Flash. That was something he wasn’t ready to deal with yet. Wonder Woman surveyed the castle, shield in hand. Her other hand gripped the pommel of her sword.

“Flash, Quicksilver, can you do some quick reconnaissance.”

“Sure thing” Flash said, rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles. “And then what?”

She drew the sword. “We enter.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comic Book geography is always fun. I wanted to find a way to merge the origins of comics and MCU Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch and the general history of the former Soviet Bloc provided a nice way to do that thematically. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Transia and Wundagore (the names of the nation and mountain the twins come from in the comics) merged less than peacefully into Sokovia. I actually imagine Sokovia as being something like the Czech Republic and Slovakia, being former members of the Austro-Hungarian Empire (explaining why the Zemos have a family castle there, a nod to the MCU Zemo being Sokovian) then occupied by the Nazis, liberated and controlled by the Soviets before gaining independence. Except Sokovia merged instead of splitting
> 
> I understand that print news is not what it was when the Bugle and the Planet were first created, but I'm also of the mind that within the fantasy world of comics, where we can accept aliens, mutants, and good hearted billionaires we can accept that print media still has the standing it did in the 30s and 60s.
> 
> The vampire Pietro is referring to Lady Falsworth, aka Spitfire from Chapter 1. She is in fact as vampire in the comics right now (or was during Captain Britain and MI13 which was the last time I saw her). I don't know that she and Quicksilver ever met in the comics, but the Marvel Universe is not as flush with speedsters as the DCU so I imagine they'd at least be kind of aware of each other.
> 
> Something like the Age of Ultron movie happened in this universe. Ultron did invade Sokovia, there was a castle, Pietro almost died, but coming in the midst of a universe where the twins were in fact Magneto's kids and once worked with the Brotherhood, and where I needed Sokovia still extant for story purposes things worked out a lot better.


	5. The Witch of Wundagore

** _Schloss Zemo_ **

The doors had been forged from solid pieces of steel, and then given holographic overlays to looks like the old rotting wooden doors that had been part of the castle since Baron Heinrich Zemo had allowed its use as a Hydra outpost during WWII. They were meant to stand up to the best tank shells Tony Stark could manufacture.

Diana had not known they were metal until she had struck them, at which point the hinges broke off and the doors flew against the far wall of a cavernous entrance hall. Several dozen pairs of boots scraped against stone floors as armed men turned and raised their guns. Diana drew her sword and raised her shield.

“My name is Diana of Themyscira and I am giving you one chance to surrender.

A rifle cracked and a bullet whizzed through the air. Diana’s sword was a blur of metal as she swatted the bullet aside. The man who had fired choked up on his gun and readied to fire again.

“What now?” Barry asked.

“I warned them.”

The first shot had been an act of shock from a startled man. The next several hundred shots, what most people termed a _hail of gunfire_ were coordinated and merciless, coming from multiple directions at dizzying speeds. Diana flashed her teeth. The twins had said these men were used to fighting the power of the gods, they really aught to have known better. She parried the bullets, and those she could not parry she blocked with her shield, and those she could not block with her shield—

To the men firing on them it must have looked like she had a million arms, she was moving so fast. The bullets struck her bracelets and _pinged_ harmlessly to the ground. Diana pushed forward, close enough now to bash one of the gunmen with her shield. She looked for the armband the Twins had told her about. These men wore the symbol of the Hydra of Lernia, a fearsome water snake which Heracles had defeated with uncharacteristic guile. Like all Amazons she held the famous demi-god in low regard, but the Hydra was a foul creature, more maliciously murderous than the average serpent, and these men who had taken it as their symbol followed its example. They hid behind the name of the Hydra but they were still Nazis. Diana had met Nazis before. She was not a fan.

Dedicated to peace and love they may have been, the Amazons were still warriors. She had given the men the chance to surrender and now their actions determined their fate. Clark would never think of crossing this line. Bruce thought about it all the time but resisted for fear of what he might become. Diana did not enjoy it, but she did it well. Still, she was wise enough to know that there was often more to an attack than first appeared. In a world of beings who could bend the wills of mortals one had to be careful where they stuck a sword.

She sheathed the sword and stored the shield on her back. Then she uncoiled the Lasso of Hestia from its leather strap and snapped it around the man on the ground. The other Hydra soldiers swarmed her, and were pushed back in blurs of blue and red. Barry knew how she worked, and young Pietro would follow his lead. He and his sister were professionals.

“The Lasso of Hestia compels you to tell the truth. What is your purpose here? Has anyone pressed you to service against your will.”

“We serve the great leaders” he said, snarling like an animal. “We will repair the decay of this world, remove the impure and—” He was cut off by a swift bootheel to the chin.

These men knew what they were doing. So be it. Diana drew her sword again. She knew what she was doing as well. She launched herself into the tightest knot of Hydra soldiers. They swarmed like ants, trying to use their rifles like clubs to strike her. She slashed and kicked and punched and one by one the herd thinned.

Pietro skidded to a stop in front of her, arms full of stolen weapons. He tossed them into the air where they were surrounded by a crimson aura. Some feet away Wanda held her arms aloft, fingers bent at odd angles. The aura responded to her gestures and the guns were crushed into a solid sphere. The sphere flew across the hall and knocked down a fresh group of soldiers that had entered from a large set of double doors. The ball kept moving right through the doors, revealing a new room full of stunned looking men in dark robes.

Barry came to a sudden stop beside Pietro and looked over his shoulder into the room. “You want us to check it out?

“If it’s not too much trouble” Diana said as she shot her arm out and grabbed hold of the a man trying to sneak up on her from behind. She tossed him to the side and turned back to the fight at hand.

Back during the war, with Steve, Zinda, and the other Blackhawks storming a castle like this and clearing it of Nazi soldiers would have been an average day. The threats she faced had changed since then, and there was an unmistakable feeling to what she was doing. It was like dropping back into training on Themyscira after years gone and for a moment she felt like Steve—her Steve—was by her side.

Wanda weaved through the attacking soldiers, shielding herself with her magic. She backed against Diana and they spun through the battle, covering each other like she was a fellow Amazon. There was a fury to the young woman’s fighting. In the week they had been travelling she had seen the Scarlett Witch break up fights on several occasions, and she always did it with the calm resolve of a skilled mage. This was different, it was the fury of true hatred. Diana had seen the look before, on Amazons when Ares invaded their shores. She was spitting curses at them, not incantations, not in the mystical sense, but mantras of bile and venom. Diana knew the kind of pain that caused such feelings.

A new aura appeared above the battle, brighter and crackling. Wanda slashed the air with her arms and the aura crashed against the ground, knocking every Hydra fighter still standing onto their backs. They were alive, but Wanda was pressing them against the stone. Their faces contorted in pain.

Diana laid a hand on Wanda’s shoulder. “Miss Maximoff” she said softly. “Wanda.”

Some of the fire went out of Wanda’s eyes, but not all of it. “Pietro” she called. Her brother appeared beside her, surveying his sister’s handiwork. “I’ll hold them. You restrain them.”

Pietro circled the room like a hurricane. In seconds he was back beside his sister, arms crossed over his chest, surveying his handiwork with a satisfied grin. The Hydra soldiers were bound in small bundles. Thick metal cables had been wrapped around their chests and arms. Several of the large red banners which had been strung up along the walls floated to the ground.

“See it’s ironic because—”

Wanda held up a silencing hand. “I get it.”

Barry peeked his head out of the next room. “Oh, Quicksilver, I was wondering where you’d went. This rooms clear, well, except for uh….”

Barry stepped aside as three figures walked out of the room. The first was a man, greying at the temples, but with otherwise raven black hair and grey eyes. He wore a blue tunic and red cape. Behind him was a woman, also dark haired, tall and lithe, wearing something that looked like a cross between biker leathers and a tuxedo. The last was a man, scruffy by every definition of the word. Blond, unshaven, dirty trench coat slapping his ankles. He lit up a cigarette and blew smoke into the face of the nearest restrained Hydra soldier.

“Took you bloody long enough” he said wryly. “We’d already cleared out the rest of the castle.”

***

The man, Diana learned, was named Stephen Strange. He was a sorcerer and a healer, the greatest their new compatriots had apparently. Mystics were naturally more in tune with the crossing of worlds. Such events were their purview long before science caught up. It made sense that he would have met with Zatanna already, possibly before the Justice League had met with the Avengers, and if Zatanna had not yet told them about this meeting, it either meant it was not so serious as Doctor Richards had said, or far, far more so.

Strange snapped his fingers and the cigarette went up like flash paper. John Constantine sputtered ash from his lips and said something rude and graphic at the other sorcerer.

“Those are bad for you” he said.

“Piss off” Constantine said slinking back behind Zatanna.

The room where Barry had met them was obviously a ritual chamber of some sort. Nordic runes had been painted on the ground, along with several symbols from languages Diana had not seen since before the fall of Troy. Candles had been burned to the wick. Several bodies were arranged at precise points in the runic pattern. _Things_ had been done to them, things not done since the followers of cruel Odin had taken their last prisoners.

“The Bloody Eagle” Constantine said with far less solemnity than the situation demanded. “Don’t these bastards just love to pretend they’re Vikings?”

Strange shook his head. He had a healer’s stomach for the carnage, but Diana could feel the rage and sorrow coming off of him.

“Nobody was pretending anything. What they did here was intentional. There was no waste, no guessing. This was deliberate blood magic.”

“Blood magic?” Barry said. He took in the scene like a detective, matching wounds to knives.

“You feel that copper taste on the tip of your tongue?” Zatanna said. “That’s the leftovers of a successful spell. You cause pain, pain creates energy, a long, drawn out death that fills the air until there’s enough power to do whatever you need to do.”

Pietro’s eyes went wide and he began scraping the tip of his tongue on the rough part of his sleeve.

“And who was doing what?” Barry asked.

Zatanna gestured to the men in the robes, unconscious against the wall. “_They_ summoned something.”

Diana’s grip on her sword tightened. “_What_ did they summon?”

“And how did you find this place?” Pietro asked. Though it was not as pressing as Diana’s question she had to admit it was a good one. “We haven’t heard from you since this all started and now you show up at _Schloss Zemo_ and you already have an interdimensional buddy?”

Zatanna looked up from the gruesome runes. “When the convergence happened Doctor Strange and I could tell right away. There was a spark in the air, mystical power.”

“We found each other and decided we’d get to work figuring out the underlying mystical cause before going back to our teams. Plus, we wanted to avoid the inevitable mistaken identity brawl that tends to happen when heroes who don’t know each other meet.”

Pietro, Wanda, and Barry at looked at the floor.

“It doesn’t happen that often” Barry said.

“But if you knew the cause why didn’t you come to us?” Diana asked.

“We knew it was magic we didn’t know the _exact_ cause. I don’t know how much time you’ve spent around Reed Richards and Tony Stark but you can’t exactly go to them and just say something is magic without getting an argument. They like clean cause and effect.”

“I’m a fan of that too” Barry said. “So you’ve given us the cause, what was the effect?”

“Nothing living” Constantine said from his corner. “Anything summoned with that much blood magic is gonna be dumb and mad so we’d probably be fighting it.”

“So nothing dangerous?” Pietro asked.

Zatanna shook her head. “He said it wasn’t alive. It’s almost certainly dangerous.”

“That jar” Barry said, startling everyone. He pointed to a vase set on top of one of the ancient Hellenistic symbols.

Wanda arched an eyebrow. “And you know that because…?”

“It’s out of place. It’s set on top of the symbols but none of the other symbols are covered. It’s muddy and there’s not other mud in here, and there’s scorch marks on the floor around it and the wall behind it, like the shadows left on walls after nuclear explosions.”

Strange and Zatanna looked to Barry, then each other. They swept their hands over the jar and then in unison stepped back, muttering incantations the way someone on a hike might apply antiseptic after scraping their knee.

“Stars and stones” Zatanna intoned solemnly.

“Holy crap” Strange replied.

“What is it?” Pietro asked worriedly. He put himself between Wanda and the jar.

The realization seemed to hit Constantine just before it hit Diana. As she was recalling a day many decades ago when that object had suddenly appeared where nothing had been before, Constantine frantically stuffed a new cigarette between his teeth and lit it.

“The Pithos of Pandora” Diana said breathlessly.

“Pandora’s—bloody—Box” Constantine said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the purposes of Background, Wonder Woman fought in WWII with Steve Trevor and the Blackhawks in the same way Captain America fought with Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos, but otherwise I imagine something like the Wonder Woman movie happened. 
> 
> My leaning on the movies and TV shows is not because I prefer them to the comics, but because they're an easy streamlined starting point for background, especially where I have to juggle two universes' histories. At the same time there are things in the movies I disagree with, and I cherry pick things from the comics to cover for those (switching Wonder Woman to WWI is not one of those, I just needed it to be WWII again for the plot to work).
> 
> The way I write magic is basically cribbed wholesale from The Dresden Files.


	6. Time to Meet the Muppets

**The Planet Oa**

This much green reminded Carol a little too much of Hala, and the uniforms of their hosts looked a little too much like Kree Star Force BDU’s. When she got to what their escorts called the Council Chamber and saw these so called Guardians of the Universe were blue skinned humanoids with a vaguely superior look about them her already tensed nerves were tightened just a smidge more. She was a rubber band ready to snap, but she didn’t show it. She didn’t show anything but a slight smirk and strut that told the assembled lifeforms around her that she and her companions were not to be messed with.

“It’s weird how they’re blue but they chose green for their insignia” Quill whispered—well, not really whispered, but certainly he had tried.

“They are like deformed Kree” Drax said in even less of a whisper.

“Kree Muppets” Quill responded with a solemn nod.

Carol half turned and glared at them. She did not like this any more than they did, but this Green Lantern Corps was organized, and it would be nice if they saw her universe’s galactic heroes as organized as well. She had a full contingent of Nova officers with her, which added some legitimacy at least, but the Guardians could make or break this deal. It all depended on who she allowed to talk.

“Welcome Carol Danvers of Earth” said one of the beings that Carol could now only think of as Kree Muppets. She thought about how much easier this would all be if it was the Muppets questioning her. She _liked_ the Muppets. She pictured Kermit, Piggy, Gonzo, and Fozzie Bear in flowing red robes sitting on this high stone pillars, looking down at her expectantly. Maybe she could add Statler and Walldorf in a little balcony even higher. It calmed her down.

Carol snapped off a salute. Among the creatures in Green standing at the base of were several humanoids and one of them returned her salutes. She had been told there were other former military personnel among this Green Lantern Corps. This guy must have been one of them.

“Thank you for meeting with us. May I present our delegation from the Nova Corps of Xandar and the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

One of the men who had saluted shot a smarmy half grin at them, eyeing them from behind a green domino mask that glowed so bright Carol had no idea how he could see.

“Just the Galaxy?”

Quill took a hostile step forward but was stopped by a sudden tangle of branches around his midsection.

“I am Groot” intoned a deep voice in a chastising tone.

The man nodded, apparently thinking Groot had introduced himself. “I am Hal Jordon, Green Lantern of Space Sector 2814…. One of them. My partner John Stewart is still on Earth working with your Avengers.” He nodded to three more humanoids. “That’s Kyle, Simon, Jessica, and Guy. We’re the Earthlings in the Corps, but there are plenty more where we came from—well not where we came from as in from Earth, but you get the idea.”

“I am Groot” Groot said in a tone that suggested _pleased to meet you_.

Hal Jordan looked confused. “I got that.”

One of the Kree Muppets spoke up. “Several new planets have been added to the universe. There is much unrest from the space faring civilizations. We require intelligence from your universe in order to properly protect the universe until this matter can be fixed.”

“We will share all we know” Carol said. “And we will be happy to partner with you to keep the peace while—”

“We do not need your partnership” said one of the Muppets flatly. “The Guardians of the Universe are more than capable of keeping peace. We require only information.”

Carol crossed her arms and glared.

***

“Well they’re assholes” Rocket said, fishing spare parts form a box he kept under his seat.

Quill had his feet up on the conference table in the Milano. He was playing with one of his blasters, aiming it at a hologram of one of their surveillance photos of the Kree Muppets.

“Bunch of dirty name thieves too.”

“How could they have stolen our name when they are from a difference dimension?” Mantis asked.

Quill seemed stumped by this one and elected to remain silent and keep firing pretend plasma blasts. Carol paced back and forth, arms still crossed and face still set in a scowl. The Nova Corps officers had gone back to Xandar to begin transmitting intelligence to Oa and presumably to tell the rest of the Nova Corps what tools the Guardians of the Universe were. That left Carol and the Guardians of the Galaxy (_damnit_, she thought, Quill is right this naming thing was going to be a pain) waiting in the Milano on Oa. The Kree Muppets weren’t happy about it, but Carol and Quill had decided that the best way of getting in on the peacekeeping was to just force their way in.

“They _are_ arrogant” Gamora said, sending a knife flying through the hologram. It stuck in the opposite wall.

Nebula nodded her assent. “Father spoke of peace and order in the exact same way.” Gyros in her head whirred angrily. “I don’t trust them.”

“What about the others?” Drax said. Everyone sat up and looked at him. He had been so silent they had almost forgotten he was there. “The warriors who they have assembled?”

“Bunch’a Nova Corps ripoffs if you ask me” Rocket said, screwing something together that looked like a grenade. Carol knew there was no reason to assume something made by an alien that looked like an Earth grenade actually _was_ a grenade, but she also knew to assume anything made by Rocket was probably explosive.

“You’ve been remarkably silent Carol” Gamora said.

Carol plucked the knife from the wall and handed it back to Gamora before continuing her pacing.

“The Guardians of the Universe are a bunch of arm chair generals. Maybe they have their hearts in the right place—”

“In the lower abdomen” Drax said confidently.

Carol brushed past this. “But no, I don’t trust them. I—”

She was interrupted by something small and yellow that flitted into the ship through the open cargo door and made a beeline right for Gamora. Carol snapped her hand out and grabbed it lightly. It might have been a sentient creature for all she knew. It certainly looked like Tinkerbell and she did not want to deal with an angry Peter Pan if she squished it. The moment her hand was around it she realized two things.

It was not a coquettish fairy but a ring.

It was most certainly some kind of alive.

A stabbing pain starting in her palm and ran up her arm into her core. Visions flashed before her. Childhood accidents. The crash at Project Pegasus. Her capture on Hala.

A voice, deep and brooding with an electric buzz came from the ring. _“Gamora of Zen-Whoberi you have the ability to inspire great fear.” _It fought against Carol’s grip and she squeezed tighter, pushing the visions down.

The Guardians were all on their feet, weapons drawn. Carol grit her teeth. “Mantis, a little help.”

Mantis ran to her side and touched the tips of her fingers to Carol’s temples. A shudder ran through her slight frame. “It wants Gamora” she said.

“We got that” Rocket said, tiny eyes darting back and forth between Carol and Gamora. “What the hell is it?”

“Let it go and step away” said a voice from the loading bay. A green light surged into the ship and Carol had the briefest moment where she thought Peter Pan had actually come for this thing.

It was not Peter Pan though, it was Hal Jordan, the human Green Lantern and there was another with them, an alien the size of the Hulk with a face like a boar. Tendrils of green energy came from rings on their own fingers.

Carol opened her hand and the green tendrils enveloped the yellow ring. The hazy green smoke solidified into a green glowing safe straight out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon that landed on the ground with a resounding _clang_.

Hal Jordan panted. “Anybody got a box.”

***

Rocket had a box. A good strong box that he had stolen from Asgard (before the Guardians were formed he said, though everyone knew this to be a lie). The ring was placed into the box where it beat against the interior like an angry wasp.

“What kind’a crap are you trying to pull?” Quill said, getting right into Jordan’s face like an umpire at a ballgame.

“You’re the one walking around with a Sinestro Corps candidate” Jordan said.

Carol got between them and shoved them apart. “In the spirit of sharing intelligence” she snarled. “Why don’t you start with what the hell that thing is and why it was after Gamora.”

“It was fear” Mantis said from her seat. She sipped the galactic equivalent of a Gatorade through a straw. “It felt like the emotion of fear turned solid.”

Hal Jordan and his companion who Carol was hoping was introduced by name soon before she accidentally called him Pumba exchanged a look. Carol knew that look. She had exchanged that look with many people in her life. It was surprise and worry all rolled into one.

“Killowog, you want to explain it” Jordan said, wearily. The light from the mask faded a little and Carol saw just how old the man looked. He was actually probably only in his thirties but they had obviously been rough years.

Killowog (Carol repeated the name in her head until it displaced Pumba) held up his beefy mitt, showing off the green ring he wore. It looked like it had been cut from an emerald and the tiny symbol in the center, the same symbol on their uniforms, did indeed look like a lantern if you turned your head and squinted.

“In our universe, there’s an emotional spectrum of colors. People with an abundance of these emotions can manifest them into constructs.” The lights came out of his ring again and formed a three dimensional image of the symbol. “Green is willpower, the ability to overcome great fear. The Blue Lanterns harness the power of hope. The Star Safire Corps have violet rings and wield the power of love. The Orange Lantern—there’s only one—is avarice. Red is rage. Indigo is compassion.”

“Yellow is fear” Carol finished.

Gamora stood up and leaned on the table. “So the Yellow Lanterns—”

“Sinestro Corps” Hal said bitterly.

“Sinestro Corps?”

Killowog sighed. “Thaal Sinestro used to be a Green Lantern until the Guardians found out that he was using his power to turn his planet Korugar into a dictatorship. They stripped him of his ring and so he went and made a deal with the fear entity Parallax. He created the Sinestro Corps, an army of the most feared beings in the universe.”

“He wanted what he had done on Korugar writ large across the universe.” Hal hung his head. “We stopped him eventually. He’s dead but his lieutenants are still out there. They haven’t sent a ring out in almost a year though.”

“You think it has something to do with the Convergence?” Carol asked.

There was another exchange of _looks_.

“New beings” Hal said.

“New potential recruits.”

“Would it hurt her?” Quill asked.

“You could have refused” Hal said, addressing Gamora. “You must be some badass to get the ring to come to you in the center of Oa. It really wanted you.”

The box was shaking. Carol set her foot on top of it. “Where did it come from?”

Hal shrugged. “No idea. The Sinestro Corps have gone to ground since Thaal died. Probably the reason they haven’t tried to recruit anyone.”

“If I accept it—” Gamora said “—will it take me to them?”

Hal blinked. Killowog said something that was probably uncouth in his native tongue.

Gamora stared at them. “Would it?”

“Probably” Hal said cautiously. “The Guardians would never go for it.”

Carol lifted the box. “And you do everything the Guardians say?”

A vulpine grin spread across Hal Jordan’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of the Guardians of the Galaxy comes almost entirely from the movies and the comics written after the movies (I keep meaning to go back to Abnett's run but honestly the space stuff isn't usually my bag) so that is the version reflected here.
> 
> The Nova Corps however, are much more like their comics counterparts, at least in as much as I've seen the comics Nova Corps.
> 
> Carol is not a member of the Guardians so much as she and the Guardians end up teaming up in a CW-verse annual crossover type of way more often than not.


	7. Spiders IN SPACE!

**The Watchtower**

Peter Parker was in space. He needed to take a picture. He needed to tell people. He couldn’t tell people—who could he tell? Deb Whitman. Hobie Brown. Would Luke or Jessica care? Nah. Two people, that was the sum total of people in his life who knew he was Spider-Man and would care that he was in space. Maybe he could tell Flash. This was cool enough that he might just reveal his identity to Flash Thompson if it meant getting to brag about being in space.

“If you wanted to go to space I could have taken you to space” Johnny said, casually drawing little “4” symbols in the air with his flames. “You could have asked.”

They walked along the carpeted corridors of the Justice League’s space station headquarters and Peter felt like he was on Star Trek—one of the episodes with a high budget too. The Justice League seemed to be comprised of every hero from the other universe. The Avengers were always more than happy to get assistance from the FF, tolerated the street level guys like Peter and the Defenders, and left the X-Men to their own devices. Since getting flown up to this station Peter had been told about several different sub-teams all under the broader Justice League banner. Teen Titans. Outlaws. Legends. Stormwatch. Not to mention what seemed to be several whole families of superheroes. Kara and her cousin for one. He had also come to realize that the grim man in the bat costume had a whole brood under his wing (pun intended).

Fittingly, given the meanderings of Peter’s thoughts, they were met by Kara and one of the Bat Brood at the end of the corridor. Peter ran through the catalogue of new heroes he had been studying on the ride up. Black bodysuit. Blue bird design. Dark hair. Batons on his back. A gymnasts body that the internet from his universe seemed quite fixated on.

“Nightwing?” Peter guessed.

The two heroes grinned at each other. “Somebody’s been doing their homework” Kara said.

“Yeah, Wikipedia has gotten wild since this happened.”

Johnny elbowed him in the ribs. “Oh, hey ask them the thing.”

“That’s not important right now.”

“Ask” Johnny pleaded.

Kara and Nightwing watched with slightly bemused expressions. “We’re happy to help. Batman and Superman have assigned us to show you new guys around and help you with anything you need.”

“How’d you get stuck pulling docent duty?” Peter asked.

Another sweet smile from Kara. “Because we’re personable but we can also kick your asses if you end up being trouble.”

Johnny cracked up and slapped Peter’s back. “Oh they’re a hoot. Seriously ask them.”

Peter sighed. “Johnny and I noticed some—uh—differences between our worlds when we were doing our research and he wanted to know if you have Netflix up here.”

Nightwing smirked. “It’s actually called Bestflix on our world.”

“Well, does it have seasons two through eight of _Firefly_ that your world apparently got but ours didn’t.”

“It does” Nightwing said with a grimace. “but it sort of goes downhill after season five.”

Nightwing, why don’t you show him to the rec room. I think his teammates said he could cool his heels for a while. I’ll show Spider-Man to the lab. Doctor Richards has been asking for him.”

Johnny left with a spring in his step. The perks of being the muscle on your team when the crisis was still in the analytical stage. Kara watched them disappear around a corner, grinning. She motioned for Peter to follow her and they entered something that was—as far as Peter could tell—the turbolift from the Enterprise.

“Laboratory deck” Kara said to the elevator.

Peter grinned under his mask and gripped the safety bar. “Sorry about Johnny” he said once they had started moving.

Kara waved her hand. “It’s fine. Actually your world has some stuff that we don’t and we had a little marathon while everything was getting sorted out up here. I can’t believe Rachael Weiss did the third Mummy in your world.”

“She didn’t in yours? What won Best Picture in your world that year?”

“Oh some Cohen Brothers movie. Plus Idris Elba is your James Bond.”

“And that’s great, but Guillermo del Toro did the _Transformers _movies in your world and I don’t think you understand what a threat Michael Bay is to our world. He’s like a Galactus level danger.”

“What’s a Galactus?”

Peter found he could no longer meet Kara’s eyes. He had not realized it, but this and everything with Johnny before it had been his way of coping with the danger that this new world posed. Existence in two universes might be burned away for good. There was no escaping from it. No leaving to another planet.

“Something big and bad that you hopefully won’t have to deal with.” His voice had gone soft and Kara had picked up on his change in mood even without being able to see his face.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened. They stepped out into a lab space that Reed Richards might have designed if he had about forty copies of himself to work with. Geniuses in Peter’s world seldom worked together, but for the Justice League, it seemed cooperation was the norm. All of the top minds, from Kara’s world and Peter’s were working at different computers and holographic displays, passing notes around and shouting to each other. It kind of reminded Peter of the newsroom at the Bugle. The hustle and bustle of intelligence. He could get used to this.

Reed was standing beside something that looked like an electron microscope after Hank Pym was through with it. Rogers, Stark, the Princess of Wakanda, and Doctor Strange of all people were there, along with a few of Kara’s people. Her cousin stood with his arms crossed, a head taller than almost everyone else. A Greek vase sat under the scanner.

“Would anyone think I was dumb if I said that it wasn’t a box?” Kara’s cousin said. “I always heard Pandora’s Box.”

“Pithos” said Wonder Woman. “It means jar.”

“It was a mistranslation that stuck” said a man in a bird mask with bird wings and—winning the award for least coherent theming—a giant mace hanging from his belt. “This is the Pithos of Pandora. The vessel which contained all the ills of mankind and at the bottom of the jar, hope.”

“Is the bird man an archaeologist?” Peter whispered to Kara.

“Actually yes.”

“You guys have some weird ones.”

Kara smirked. “Did I not hear something about a wolverine man? What kind of random animal theming is that?”

“Touché.”

“Hope was one of the evils?” Asked a blonde in a biker jacket. Peter flipped through his mental notes again. Black Canary. She had been at the Baxter Building when it all started. The new half of Wikipedia said that the Justice League had a loose command structure without an official leader, but the way she stood and talked, and the way other people shut up an listened when she did told Peter she was in charge more often than not.

The bird man looked to Wonder Woman and a kind of understanding passed between them. Something about it struck Peter. He had seen that kind of understanding only once before, between two cosmic beings named Uatu and The Beyonder. It was the passing exchange of two individuals who had very little to do with each other, except that they had been around far longer than anyone else.

“There’s some debate on the subject” said the bird man (Peter was straining for the name) with a heavy sigh. Some say that Pandora kept hope so that man would always have it at hand. Others say that hope itself was one of the evils, the greatest evil. Hope without the will do effect change is just complacency.”

The room fell into a somber silence and the lights seemed to dim just a little bit. Some fixed their eyes on the Pithos, others made a point of not looking at it. A couple of people, Ant Man, Scarlett Witch, Hawkeye, and some of the brawnier Justice Leaguers took small steps away from it.

“What’s it do?” Everyone’s eyes went to Peter as he turned the same shade of red as his mask.

“Pardon?” Said the Bird Man.

Peter crossed his arms and shuffled his feet. “Well, that’s a fun story, but um, practically, what does it do?”

“You doubt the power of—”

“I don’t doubt anything” Peter said. “I get it, it’s immensely powerful. Magic or sufficiently advanced science or whatever the hell it is it’s got some major juice, I get it, but like, what does it actually do? What did Hydra want with it? Is it a weapon? Is it a symbol of power? Like, what kind of fight are we looking at and ideally how do we avoid it?”

Something that might have been a smirk but was probably just an involuntary facial tick appeared on Batman’s face.

“At least somebody is asking the right questions.” He looked at Peter and suddenly Peter wanted to jump out the window. His eyes glowed like Stark’s armor, which was freaky with a full face mask but somehow even freakier in what appeared to be a leather cowl. Did his eyes just do that naturally? “Do you have theories?”

Peter lifted his palms. “Hey, I’m just the guy who fights with bank robbers and the odd CEO in power armor. Cap would be the Hydra expert.”

Kara’s cousin (Peter had not initially been able to bring himself to call him Superman, though he was coming around on that) looked at Captain America. At a very base level they looked nothing alike, yet there was something to the both of them that gave Peter the feeling they could switch suits and nobody would notice any difference.

“Captain Rogers?”

“In World War Two a Nazi named Johann Schmidt pursued several occult objects. The Pandora’s…_Pithos_…was on the list. In December of 1944 we thought we had found it, then there was bright flash and when we all got our heads clear Schmidt and the Pithos were gone. We spent the next several months under the assumption he had it, but it became clear the Nazis were as clueless about its disappearance as we were.”

Wonder Woman listened like someone who already knew how the story ended. “In December of the same year I accompanied a group called the Blackhawks to capture a Nazi sorcerer named Edel Nacht. We witnessed the _Pithos _materialize for several seconds after a bright flash and then it disappeared. The events must be linked. Perhaps Nacht summoned it from your world.”

A scruffy man in a trench coat absently rolled an unlit cigarette between his thumb and forefinger. “If the Pithos is a constant across our worlds, it might be that we share one. Summon it in one, pull it from the other. Round and round it goes.” He looped his cigarette around in the air.

John Stewart had his eyes on the Pithos like it might jump up and stab somebody. “But why would it disappear from their world in the forties, show up in ours for half a second and then end up here today?”

“Time isn’t linear” Flash (speedy Flash, not Peter’s friend Flash) said. “It’s just how we perceive it. Somebody enacts a ritual to summon the Pithos last week and it gets pulled up from the forties. Really, we’re all lucky this convergence and the actual ritual coincided. At least this way we can fathom the causal relationship.” Peter thought that he talked a little bit like a kids’ science show host. It felt like his little speech should have been capped off with some catchy sign off like _Flash Fact_.

Dr. Strange nodded. “Probably something happened on that date somewhere in the multiverse that made it susceptible a breach.”

“Doctor Strange, Constantine and I can work to figure out the exact nature of the magics involved” Said a magician. Peter blinked and did a double take. Yeah no, she was just straight up dressed like a Vegas magician. “It would help to have a more complete picture of the locales involved. We should send a team to the place where the Pithos materialized in the forties.”

“Captain Rogers and I will go” Wonder Woman said.

“If Hydra is involved then they’ll probably be sending a team there too. We should take backup” Cap said.

A team was put together. Cap and Wonder Woman would travel to a little Island off the coast of Greece with someone called Batwoman (not to be confused with various women called Batgirl, a mistake Peter had made several times when he had Johnny quiz him), Doctor Strange, Thor, and Superman himself. It might have seemed like overkill, but Peter knew that when Hydra was involved nobody liked to take chances. The chosen few left to take something called a Boom Tube, but which Peter was going to continue calling a Transporter, back to Earth.

The magician and the scruffy smoker went off to a corner together to talk in hushed tones, or what they thought were hushes tones, except Peter had excellent hearing and surveillance tech in his mask.

“John?”

“Nacht” John replied without missing a beat. “Figured he’d be involved as soon as magic Nazis came up. When was the last time you heard about our old friend Elden?”

“He’s supposed to be dead.”

John scoffed. “So are half the people in your little social club love. You stay up here. I’ll look into it. Best not scare anyone until we know the buggers are involved.”

With that, he was gone from the room and Zatanna (Peter had done a quick google while he eavesdropped) rejoined Bird Man by the Pithos. Peter gave them and it a wide berth as he made his way to Reed’s work station where he was talking with someone called The Atom. Peter caught the tail end of a conversation.

“—Maybe an unstable molecule solution applied across the—” The Atom abruptly stopped talking as Peter approached and stepped back slightly.

Peter looked between him and Reed. “What’re you talking about?” He asked in a sing-song voice.

“Hopefully nothing we need to worry about” Reed said with that look he had when he was stuffing terrifying thoughts into little boxes in his head. “You did good there Pe—Spider-Man.”

“Dude.”

Reed winced. “Sorry. I think you impressed Batman.”

“And it’s going straight into my journal. Supergirl said you wanted to see me.”

“Yes.” Reed looked to the Atom. “Doctor Palmer could you excuse us for a second?” Atom walked away and joined Hank and Janet Pym at their work station. Reed put his attention back on Peter. “You write science articles occasionally, yes?”

Peter did, and he was quite happy that it was how his life had turned out. After graduating with his masters in chemical engineering he had worked for a couple of small research labs, almost all of which had been shut down due to being attacked by supervillains or being run by supervillains or creating supervillains. Then he had gone and started teach science at his old high school, which was rewarding, if a little depressing some days. Nothing to make you feel like your life is moving in circles then ending up right back where you started.

Recently though, the circular nature of his life had been more beneficial. Robbie Robertson at the Daily Bugle had asked him to fill in for their old science editor when he turned out to be a Supervillain (because New York) and Peter had found that when he wasn’t forced to sell pictures of himself to be used in smear campaigns by a paranoid lunatic working for the Bugle was actually pretty fun. He also had a semi-regular gig doing science demonstrations for the school tours at the Baxter Building, which provided a good cover for when he slipped and told people he knew Reed and Sue Richards, but also made it almost impossible for Reed not to refer to him as Peter, secret identity be damned.

“I think you know I do.”

“Yes” Reed said, speaking to Peter but looking into a microscope. The way Reed carried on Peter had always assumed if the cosmic rays hadn’t hit he would have ended up just inventing Flubber. “They’re quite simplistic.”

“Thanks doc” Peter said, glad he couldn’t emote through his mask.

Reed looked up from the microscope, his eyes very slightly extended from his skull like a cartoon wolf. “Sorry, poor choice of words.” He retracted and shut his eyes. “Accessible was the word I was looking for. You make science accessible to the masses. I wanted to ask if you might, in your civilian identity, care to make a statement on behalf of the Baxter Foundation as to what is happening from a scientific standpoint. Stark and his PR people have been through several drafts, but—loathe as Tony is to admit it—polls show people trust the word of the Fantastic Four more than Stark Industries. More to the point, your experience helping the Bugle’s readers and your students understand difficult concepts would be beneficial.”

This would be the moment for a smart remark. Peter always had a smart remark handy when he was feeling pressure and there was no denying he was feeling immense pressure right now. Yet no smart remark came. Maybe if somebody threw an exploding pumpkin at him, then he’d be in his comfort zone.

“I would be….” His eyes got very big under his mask. “I…yes.”

Reed nodded along slowly, like a man trying to teach a baby to talk. “Good. As a show of good will Supergirl will be joining you. I called Luke Cage and he said you could show up at his home with her and pretend to ‘pick up’—” Reed mad air quotes. “Peter Parker so as to preserve your secret. Then she’ll fly you the Baxter Building to prepare your notes.” He placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, which was only slightly disconcerting given that he stretched it about a meter and a half to do so. “You’ll be fine Peter.”

The whole walk to the Boom Tube Peter tried to remind himself that his costume was designed not to show sweat stains. He still felt like everybody was staring at his underarms. They had to be. He was drenched. He needed a shower. He needed deodorant. He needed to burrow under several blankets with his iPad and binge watch the seven new seasons of _Firefly_ that had materialized overnight not go change into Luke Cage’s (or more likely considering their size difference Jessica Jones’) spare clothes and give a press conference at the Baxter Building.

Kara stood beside him, hands behind her back as they waited for an honest to god Martian to teleport them into the middle of Harlem. Something started whirring behind him and he felt a tug at the spot just behind his navel. He was panicky and sweaty but there was one thing he had to do before the opportunity passed him by.

“Energize” he called out in his best Patrick Stewart impression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is where I probably need to explain things because I have built a Frankenstein's monster of different versions of Peter Parker here. Basically, I looked at Peter's life as a sort of take on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. When he started out in High School, he had two friends who knew his secret (Hobie Brown aka Prowler, and Deb Whitman, who had a fun brother sister relationship with Peter in the 90s cartoon that I always liked) and a bully in Flash Thompson. In college Peter and Flash became friends (though Flash still does not know his identity).
> 
> At some point Jessica Jones and Luke Cage learned his identity, but they're more like "work friends" than "call up to gush about how you're in space" friends.
> 
> Peter teaching at Midtown and writing science articles for the Bugle basically brings together two periods in Peter's life where I thought things could have settled into a nice status quo before they didn't.
> 
> Something like Legends of Tomorrow exists in this world, probably a team with Black Canary, Atom, Steel, Vixen, Firestorm, and maybe the Hawks.


	8. Cross Purposes

**Zykanthos,** **Greece**

They loved Wonder Woman in Greece. Kate had always known it in the abstract (and of course they loved Wonder Woman everywhere) but damn if there wasn’t a bigger crowd when they touched down in the Avengers’ Quinjet than she had seen any other place. Crowds had lined up on either end of a police barricade, waving signs in support of their heroine. Kate and the others got about halfway down the path before she realized that the banners were not all for Wonder Woman. A few of them had pictures of Captain Rogers, done in an artsy red, white and blue overlay. As they walked through the cheering crowds and towards the ruins where the two heroes had independently encountered the Pithos so many years ago, Kate was able to pick out a few words from the din, cheers for Rogers and Wonder Woman. What was more, both of them waved and interacted with the crowd like the best kind of public figure, and all in Greek to boot.

“Have you ever seen the like?” Superman said, nodding at a the people with a homey, farm boy affect.

“More than once around you” Kate replied. “And Bruce when he’s playing Gotham’s dutiful son.”

“Bruce is Gotham’s dutiful son” Superman chided. “You know, and this is not a black mark on his integrity, but I’ve always thought that if the whole world was going to hell he’d still be out making the rounds in Gotham wearing one face or the other, right to the very end.”

“And he wouldn’t be alone.” Kate kept her head forward. The cat had been out of the bag for a few years about the Bats of Gotham. They couldn’t be the urban legends they had once been, not after Bruce had come into his role in the League so publicly, so it was fine for Kate to be seen in costume here in Greece, but she didn’t want anybody getting too good a look at her. Some of the mystique had to be maintained or the whole operation was going to fall apart. “You want to ask why he sent me instead of doing this himself?”

Superman actually looked flustered. “Never crossed my mind.”

“Yeah it did. You, the Amazon….” Kate shrugged. “You’d think Bruce would be here too, but he’s not. You want to know why?”

“I know why.” A note of disapproval entered his voice. Kate finally turned her head, needing to see the expression on the Man of Steel’s face that went with that tone. It was slight, but it was there—like a disappointed father on a fifties sitcom. “He doesn’t trust the Avengers. He wants to be at the Watchtower to keep an eye on them.”

They let that hang in the air, then Kate asked “You trust them?”

“For the most part.”

Kate nodded. “The Iron Man.”

Now it was Superman’s turn to stay silent and refrain from eye contact.

They made it to the edge of the town where the ruins still stood, and Rogers and Wonder Woman only had to sign a few autographs. When their combined teams had made the call to Greece through something called S.H.I.E.L.D. (which was maybe the DEO or maybe A.R.G.U.S. in the other world) the local authorities seemed to practically expect it. When they got there they saw why.

There was a monastery over the ancient ruins, except there also was not. Looking at it for too long gave Kate a headache but as when she was able to look at it the structure sort of reminded her of those old holographic trading cards Dick Grayson would try and show her when they met at the Gotham society functions as kids. If she looked at it one way there was a slightly decaying but still generally sturdy monastery, but if she looked another way it was just a burnt out husk half covering an older Greek temple.

“Doctor?” Rogers asked.

Dr. Strange closed his eyes and did something vaguely mystical with his hands. “This is not good.” He sucked in a sharp breath. “This is so much worse than we had thought.” He opened his eyes and moved so he was facing them rest of them. “When two worlds merge, things that didn’t exist in one world will start existing in another if the space is there. Generally though, worlds that merge will be similar enough that it only takes one or two changes to make the transition seamless. There’s a preparatory element to these things. What we’re seeing here, on a small scale that I fear is rapidly going to expand, is what happens when two worlds are merged without any kind of cosmic balance being addressed. Two versions of the same place that went through wildly different timelines are trying to coexist.”

Rogers nodded gravely. “In our world Johann Schmidt burned the monastery down, but not in the other world.”

“And that affected the growth of the community around it” Wonder Woman continued. “Things like this must be occurring all across the world.”

“And this is what’s going to cause the disaster Doctor Richards warned us about?” Kate was now focusing squarely on Strange and not, as much as she could help it, on the Monastery.

“It’s an aspect of it, but what we need to be more concerned with now is that volatile reactions like this also produce an incredible amount of energy. Violent energy, the energy of conflict. It’s something Reed Richards would have trouble understanding right away, as smart as he is, because his focus is purely scientific.”

“You are beginning to sound like the Latverian monarch.”

Strange stroked his beard. “Doom would have seen it early. He may be a tyrant but he’s comprehensive in his studies. I don’t think the merging of our worlds was a side effect of one side or the other summoning the Pithos, I think summoning the Pithos was meant to merge the worlds.”

“To give someone power?” Superman asked.

“Mystical power off the charts. That’s why the natural defenses that ensure harmonious merging were bypassed. Somebody is trying to ferment as much conflict as possible.”

Wonder Woman looked at the one Kate had been told was Thor, like actually Thor, the Norse god of thunder. Kate tried her best not to consider the broader theological ramifications, but she found herself glad that if the Avengers had a god, at least the Justice League had Wonder Woman and the Shazam Family.

“Does your world have a Loki Lie-smith Odinson?”

Thor’s grip on his hammer tightened. “Such mischief would be well to my brother’s liking Amazon, but I dare say it is not within his power.”

“I’d have to agree” Strange said. “Whoever did this would have needed to deals with several dozen otherworldly entities. It would take a massive promise of souls…to…even…” Strange’s eyes went wide. “By the Vishanti” he whispered. “So that’s their plan?”

“What?” Superman asked.

He, Thor, and even Wonder Woman were poised for Strange’s answer and Strange was ready to give it. They had become caught up in the moment. It was an easy mistake to make, especially for people used to being the strongest person in a room. It would take a couple of people closer to the realm of mere mortals to sense what was about to happen.

Captain Rogers pulled his shield off his back. Kate flicked two extra long and sharp batarangs out of her belt. This variety were basically combat knives and she planned to use them as such. The others caught on as quick as they could, but by the time they had read the signs, the silence of the crowd, the rumble in the air, the _ping_ of radar sensors in a cowl the shadows were already coming up from the sea.

It was like some gruesome German Expressionist film. Jagged shadows, bent at odd angles that moved in rough, jerky motions marched through the breakers. When they hit dry land they solidified, a little at least, into something resembling SS Stormtroopers with metal skulls for faces. Kate grit her teeth and braced herself to throw down.

At the head of the march was a man, not a shadow, not particularly tall or muscular, a perfectly average man with a blood red skull for a head and glowing yellow eyes. Beside her, Rogers expression turned from steely resolve to outright hatred.

“Johann Schmidt?” She asked him.

Rogers nodded. Superman’s eyes turned red. Wonder Woman’s lasso glowed like fire. Dr. Strange grew a dozen extra arms, each gripping a weapon that seemed to be made of light itself. Most impressive of all though was the thunder. Above them, on an otherwise clear day, there was suddenly a mass of steel grey storm clouds whose arrival had been heralded by thunder like canon shot and lighting so bright it could have been mistaken for a rising sun.

And Johann Schmidt did not look afraid.

“_Hauptmann_, and friends. You have come to die then?”

“Do we kick his ass?” Kate asked through gritted teeth.

“Hold” Captain Rogers commanded and maybe it was just the latent military training or maybe it was something about this man that transcended worlds but when he gave an order a soldier listened. He stared at Schmitt and Schmitt stared back like they were the only two people on the beach. “What’s your game Schmidt?”

“Firstly, you will address me as Red Skull _Hauptmann_. Better men do not ask to be called by our pitiful mortal names in my new world, and much as I loathe you personally, you are physically, if not morally, a better man like me.”

“Your new world?” Superman asked. “I think you’ll find a few billion people who might take issue with that.”

“Ah.” It should have been impossible for a skull to emote, but Kate swore he looked elated. “The _Ubermensch_.”

“I didn’t pick the name” Superman said irritably.

“My partners warned me about you. Another perfect physical specimen…well nearly perfect, wracked with an off kilter moral compass.”

“Are we kicking this guy’s ass or what?”

There should have been a formal command. Maybe there was and Kate’s side just failed to catch it. Thor went first, spinning his hammer until, impossibly, it pulled him from the ground and launched him into the midst of Schmidt’s shadow army. Strange made various signs with all of his arms and a wave of light washed over invaders. They grew dimmer, thought failed to disappear entirely. Rogers went straight for Schmidt, honing on him like a sniper’s bullet.

It was amazing to see. The problem was that the Justice League had not caught the attack command if there had been one. They were out of synch with the attack, only by seconds, but it was enough. Superman had to swerve to avoid colliding with Thor and Thor had to pull back a strike of his hammer. Strange abruptly cut off his spell work to avoid catching Wonder Woman in the crossfire.

Kate fared slightly better than the others. She made it to Schmidt a couple of seconds behind Rogers and laid into him with everything she had. Skull face or no he was still a man, and men had weak spots—bones that could be bent the wrong way, nerve clusters that would light up the whole body when hit, tendons that would could be cut without causing immediate death. Like the rest of the Bats, she observed Bruce’s policy against killing, though being a soldier fighting a Nazi she was straining for it. She contented herself with pushing it to its limit.

She slashed with her Batarangs, arcing around Schmidt while Captain Rogers wailed on him. It was a different fighting style than Bruce and most of the other Bats. Not quite the wide bar brawl swings that Superman used, but not the polished efficiency of the Bats. It was somewhere in between, brutal, economical, but with a grace and speed that was, if only slightly, inhuman. It reminded Kate of Barbara, back when she had been Batgirl, and her ballerina’s movements in fights.

He pummeled him again and again with the edge of his shield while Kate dug the tips of her Batarangs into the soft part beneath Schmidt’s shoulder blades. She was hoping for a yowl of pain, not because she was a sadist or anything, but a yowl of pain let you know that what you were doing was working. There was no yowl. There was no reaction of any kind. The skull seemed to grin again, something smarmy beyond the natural rictus grin. Rogers brought his shield down again and Schmidt caught it and, with one powerful twist of the arm, flung it away.

He reached back with one arm and took Kate by the arm, flipping her forward so that she collided with Rogers and they both ended up in heaps on the floor. She rolled off of him and reached into her belt. With a flick of her wrist she launched three tiny smoke bombs into the air. They went off inches from Schmidt’s face, like firecrackers against his eyes. She lunged at him, fist cocked back.

Schmidt caught the punch. With his other hand he struck her in the throat. It might have been a crippling blow if not for the armor in her cowl. She stumbled back and planted herself beside Rogers.

“You didn’t say he had powers.”

Rogers, devoid of his shield, pumped his arms like he was reloading six shooters. “He usually doesn’t. Does it make a difference?”

Kate snarled. “No Captain it does not.”

Schmidt lifted his right hand into the air. “In point of fact—” He snapped his fingers. “—It makes all the difference in the world.” The shadow army dissolved, leaving Thor, Superman, Strange and Wonder Woman devoid of anyone to fight.

They converged on Schmidt, surrounding him. Lighting crackled in Thor’s eyes. “What manner of trickery is this?”

“I had hoped they would send you Odinson. You know I dreamt of meeting you as a boy. The perfect deity for the renewed Aryan race. What a disappointment you turned out to be. I think perhaps it is time you were relieved of that hammer. It belongs in the hands of someone truly worthy.”

“You may pry this hammer from my cold, dead….” The Thunder God’s voice died as the hammer shimmered like the monastery before disappearing entirely. He stared wide eyed at his empty hands.

Schmidt’s eyes were alight with self-righteous glee. He was distracted, and that distraction was all Superman and Wonder Woman needed. The lasso wrapped around his neck while Superman took him and pinned his arms behind his back. From the strain on both their faces, Schmidt was putting up a hell of a fight, but the combined efforts of Kryptonian and Amazonian muscle were overpowering him. Schmidt began to sink to his knees.

That was when Thor broke into the fight and took Schmidt by the throat. “Bring back my hammer little man or I will choke the life out of you right here.” He pulled Schmidt forward—

Which was exactly the leverage he needed to break free from Superman’s grip and fling a wild elbow into his chin, knocking him back just far enough that he had room to make a broad gesture with his arms.

Dr. Strange’s jaw dropped open. “Somebody stop him” he shouted.

It was too late. Shadows began pouring from Schmidt. They wrestled the lasso and the hand of Thor from around his throat. Then they made for Superman, wrapping him in inky tendrils. Superman fought to approach Schmidt, taking pained steps like he was being pushed back by the gravity of a thousand worlds. He managed a single punch, not his strongest, but even a weak punch from a Kryptonian could be devastating.

Schmidt caught it.

“Like Thor you have been derelict in the use of your powers. Men like you do not deserve these gifts.”

There was a pulse in the air like someone had set off a bomb. The shadows collapsed in on themselves, taking Schmidt with them. The six heroes were left battered and beaten on the Greek shore, staring at an empty space. Superman was the first to stand.

“I’ll do sweep of the area and….” He stood still on the beach. Then it hit Kate like a freight train. He was _standing_ on the beach. “I can’t lift off.” Superman’s voice quivered. He blinked several times. “I don’t have my powers.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, fair warning, some of this might get a little tough on Iron Man. I don't hate Iron Man, but I am left with a lot of bitterness over how he Wolverined the MCU (I don't hate Wolverine either, but same problem) and especially what they did with MCU Peter. I think there are very valid reasons why both Peter Parker and Clark Kent would distrust Iron Man (reasons fond of green and purple power armor).
> 
> Having said that, if you're an Iron Man fan, don't worry, I'm not planning anything bad for him. I'm not going to have Superman beat him up. I'm not going to turn Iron Man into a Nazi (who do I look like, Mark Millar?).
> 
> In fact, I have some cool stuff planned for Iron Man, because I respect him too much to cut him out of this completely, but I also have frustrations to work out, especially since a lot of these early chapters were written around the time Far From Home came out.
> 
> Schmidt's soldiers are inspired by the Tenebrae (am I spelling that right? Who knows. I could reach two feet to my bookshelf and check, but who has the time) from Marguerite Bennet's DC Bombshells.


	9. PowerPoint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, big thanks to the people who left Kudos. I'm glad you're enjoying this.

**Harlem, New York**

“Danny doesn’t have any clothes here?”

Jessica crossed her arms and scowled. Generally she was always scowling, but she seemed to be putting an extra amount of scowl into it at the moment.

“Danny doesn’t live here Peter.” She tossed him a white t-shirt. “And those are men’s jeans.”

Peter writhed, trying to find some room in the pants Jessica had given him. He had been right about the clothes. Luke’s clothes made him look like a toddler but Jessica’s clothes made him look like a pop star from the early 2000’s. He was screwed either way.

“It’s too tight.”

“Says the guy who swings around the city in spandex.” Luke cracked a smile and slapped Peter on the shoulder. Peter would have fallen over from the impact if not for his spider powers sticking him to the floor.

This did not go unnoticed by Jessica who snorted derisively. “Dude.”

Peter put on the t-shirt and tried not to think about the fact that he and Jessica Jones wore the same size. He glanced at the clock on the wall. Supergirl had been waiting outside for about twenty minutes now while Peter, Jessica, and Luke went over the plan. Spider-Man had entered the _Heroes for Hire _offices, which functioned as something between a bodyguard service and a PI firm. The name was actually something of a misnomer. The people who worked there often did their hero work _pro bono_ like everyone else, and were colloquially known as _The Defenders_. The billed the clients who could afford it and Danny Rand covered the rest of their expenses.

Once inside he was to change into civvies and emerge with Luke, pretending Spider-Man had needed to swing away on an errand, but that Luke would be filling in for him. It was the kind of plan that was just dumb enough to work, something Jessica had made a point of saying out loud several times.

“Hey, how are you guys holding up with the, uh… the thing?”

“Reed Richards doesn’t have a fancy ass name for it yet?”

“We’ve been calling it the convergence but I thought you would make fun of me.”

Jessica shrugged. “That’s fair.”

“It’s been peaceable around here.” Luke said, shrugging into his jacket. “For the most part. We were worried some new mob might show up and get into a war with Fisk or Cottonmouth.”

“Or the Maggia, the Russos, Hammerhead, the Hand.”

“We get it Jess. There’s a lot of crime.” Peter hopped on one foot as he put on a sneaker. “But that hasn’t happened?”

Luke shook his head. “It’s been quiet. The only problems we’ve been having are that suddenly apartments have two sets of tenants and nobody wants to move, but there’ve only been a few scuffles. It could be a lot worse.”

“Well, hopefully they get it fixed before that happens.” Peter loaded fresh cartridges into his web-shooters. A few years ago he had designed them to look like fitness bracelets so he could wear them in public. It worked for the most part, except when he met someone else with a fitness bracelet and had to pretend he knew how they worked. “Actually, I wanted to ask you guys about something. There’s a fella working with the Justice League.”

“Damn that’s a dumb name” Jessica said.

Luke smirked. “And _The Avengers_ isn’t?”

“No, that’s stupid too.”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Anyway, he’s a scruffy blond magic guy. British. Name’s John Constantine. He’s working an angle that he’s not telling anybody about.”

Jessica cocked her head to the side. “And you thought your surly neighborhood PI might be able to dig something up on him.”

“Basically, yeah.”

“What’s his angle?”

“There’s a Nazi sorcerer name Edel Nacht who had him and their other magic person spooked. He said he was going to check up on someone named Elden.”

Jessica nodded along as Peter talked. She had switched to her neutral scowl. “Who else have you told?”

“Just you. It might be nothing and if it is I don’t want—well….”

“You got called up to play with the big leagues and you don’t want cause a diplomatic incident” Luke finished for him.

“That’s one way of putting in.” Peter spread his arms out. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re gonna go join _N’sync_.” Jessica said.

Peter rolled his eyes. “You were nicer in high school.”

“And you were much more of a dick” she fired back. “Now get going. Wouldn’t want to keep Cinderella waiting out there.”

Luke walked Peter out of the building. Supergirl finished signing autographs for a couple of kids and looked the pair of them over.

“What happened to—”

“Spider-Man had an errand to run” Peter said with the practiced ease of someone who told that lie all the time but never got any better at it. “This is Luke Cage. He’s going to fill in.”

Supergirl shook Luke’s hand. “Firm grip.”

“Likewise” Luke said. “The Baxter Building is a few blocks away. We should hurry if we’re gonna give Pete time to change into something more presentable.”

“Oh” Supergirl looked shocked. “Spider-Man didn’t tell you?”

“Tell us what?” Luke and Peter chorused.

They reached the Baxter Building with more than enough time for Peter to raid his emergency stash and pick up a nice button down and slacks while Luke vomited into a trashcan. Supergirl apologized profusely, though whether Luke heard it over the sound of his own retching was another matter. Peter fixed his tie and shuffled around some note cards that he had used to scribble a few talking points then looked at Luke, still bent double in Reed and Sue’s kitchen.

“Dude, your wife flies.”

Luke lifted his head out of the trashcan and scowled at Peter. “Not with me.”

“Again, I’m really sorry, I forget that most people don’t handle it well.” She fixed her Blue eyes on Peter. “You seem to be taking it okay.”

“I—uh—” Peter’s mouth flapped fishlike for a moment. “I puked in the other room while I was changing.”

After that he did his best to look haggard and pale. It wasn’t hard since there was currently a crowd of reporters sitting in the Press Room of the Baxter Building, representing every major news outlet on two worlds and all waiting for Peter to give what was going to be the equivalent of one of the Baxter Foundation YouTube videos he put out. He tried to remind himself that these reporters would be nothing compared to the haranguing he had gotten as Spider-Man or indeed the worst of the comments on YouTube.

He spread his arms. “I look ready?”

“I’m not your fashion consultant Peter” Luke said, finally standing back up.

Kara smiled at him. “You’re gonna be fine. We’ll be right there with you. Just go out there and say what you have to say. Say it honestly and they’ll respond in kind.”

Peter gave a halfhearted grin. “You’re really nice, you know that.”

They walked into the Press Room and immediately Peter was blinded by a dozen camera flashes. It was like fighting Electro and The Spot at once. He held up a hand on instinct as he made his way to the podium, gripped the sides like it was a life preserver (in exactly the way Mr. Harrington had always told him not to when giving a speech) and smiled in a way that, though he did not know, exactly matched the first grade school portrait hanging in May’s office at the F.E.A.S.T. Shelter.

“Good uh—good afternoon.” Was it afternoon? Whatever, no time to worry about that now. “My name is Peter Parker. I have a Masters in Science from Empire State University. I write the science column for the Daily Bugle—which I see represented out there in the audience. He swallowed and made eye contact with a brunette in a black polo shirt. “Hey Betty.” She smiled up at him and it calmed him slightly. “I’m also a High School Chemistry teacher, and do Scientific Outreach for the Baxter Foundation. I am joined by Supergirl of the Justice League, and Luke Cage—” He looked over his shoulder at Luke. “Are you going by Power Man now?”

Luke rolled his eyes and shook his head. “It’s just Luke man” he said irritably.

Peter straightened his tie. “Luke Cage, of the Defe—” He took a sip from the glass on the podium. His mouth was very dry. “The—the Heroes for Hire.” Peter pressed a button on the podium and a slide came up. It had nice colors and just enough animation to be engaging without being tacky. It calmed Peter a little bit. Introductions were over. Now it was time for science, and nobody in the room knew Science like Peter. “The Convergence of our two worlds has been scary for many of us and there has been a lot of information going around, so on behalf of the Baxter Foundation, the Justice League, the Avengers, the D.E.O., S.H.I.E.L.D. and the world governments as represented by the United Nations, I have been appointed to talk about what exactly is happening and the steps we are taking to fix it. There will be a ten minute presentation, followed by questions.”

With that, Peter launched into his explanations. He was actually quite proud of the presentation he had put together. Last minute reports had always been a specialty of his and he was happy to find that he had not lost his touch. The reporters all hung on his every word, dutifully jotting down notes. Photographers snapped their pictures and though Peter was nervous and thought about the days when he would have been one of them, he knew he was meant to be up here. It felt right, and as long as he did not stare too long at the news cameras broadcasting his presentation live he found he was able to maintain his composure.

As the last slide went by and the screen turned black, a slew of hands went up. Peter pointed out into the audience and selected one of the women standing by a cameraman filming live. Betty gave him a wry look, but she understood that after declaring he worked for the Bugle it would look bad to pick on her first.

“Iris West-Allen, Central City Picture News, what kinds of environmental effects can we expect as the convergence continues?”

Peter leaned into the mic. “In this we’re actually quite lucky. Our two worlds slot together quite well. If you could all imagine two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that kind of fit together, but aren’t a match.” He laced his fingers together where everyone could see. “Everything almost fits. That means that, say, my apartment has a match with an apartment from the world of our new friends, and so while tenants and possessions get jumbled—my wife and I have been lucky but our upstairs neighbors suddenly have three new roommates. It’s not pleasant, but it’s not catastrophic. Now, on the opposite end of the spectrum, if two objects don’t match up, uneven parts of the puzzle pieces if you will, things might start to get shaky. I mean that literally. There could be mild tremors and—the concept is rather abstract but a certain visual haziness.”

Everyone’s hands went up again, but before Peter could pick, a slick haired man in wire frame glasses stood up and shouted over the rest of the crowd.

“Jack Ryder, GCN” he declared pompously. “How can you say we’re safe when your world is home to a population of dangerous genetic outliers, many of whom have made it their intention to wipe out the average man and replace them on the evolutionary ladder.”

Peter blinked. He looked back at Luke who scowled. “I’m here to discuss the science behind the convergence. Mutant Affairs is not strictly relevant to the—”

“I think it’s a danger that people need to know about” Ryder said, waving a notepad dramatically through the air. “But then, I shouldn’t expect any kind of expansive commentary from someone who does internet videos for hungover science teachers.”

There had been enough incidents in the Baxter Building press room when tensions ran hot where someone gripped the sides of the podium so hard they broke. Johnny had once melted the whole podium. It was because of this that Reed had reinforced the podium grips with Vibranium. So instead of crushing the sides of the podium, Peter snapped the Vibranium bit from its wooden housing. It was a small misstep and luckily it seemed like everyone was looking at Ryder for the moment. He held the sides of the podium where they were meant to be and stared down the reporter.

“Mutant crimes do not account for even half of the terrorist attacks in the world today. I know this because I work in a high school where basic statistics are considered an important lesson. You want to talk about mutants, why don’t you talk about Pietro and Wanda Maximoff, Avengers who have saved the world countless times. You could talk about the work of Doctor Henry McCoy, who in addition to serving as the Secretary of Mutant Affairs is also a noted biochemist making some real strides in cancer research, and the treatment of the Legacy Virus. You might even talk about a young man in my science classes who works two jobs and maintains straight A’s. The fact of the matter is though, that you don’t want to talk about that. You want to sit here and stoke fear because it brings in viewers. Now I could list mutants who do good work for the world all day but the fact of the matter is that I am not going to, because their right to exist unmolested is not contingent upon their ability to benefit the rest of the world, it is contingent upon their status as sentient, sapient beings—beings who, I might add, have nothing to do with the issue at hand except that some of them are actively trying to help. Does that answer your question?”

People were staring at him. Granted they had been staring at him before but now—it was hard to describe the change. Before they had been listening to him like someone listens for their group being called at an airport, as a source of information, now they were watching him. _Crap. Way to go Pete._

Someone else stood up. Burly, crewcut, and wearing clothes that looked tight in weird areas. Peter’s spidey-sense went off so hard he winced. There was a shockwave and chairs and reporters went flying. The podium shattered against the back wall, but Peter was already rolling to the side. Betty Brant collided with him and they did a few somersaults before coming to a stop beside the shattered podium.

Supergirl and Luke marched forward. The press scrambled for the exits, most of them at least. Betty untangled herself from Peter and whipped out her phone. Peter grinned. Attacks like this were nothing compared to the wrath of Jameson if you missed out on news. Two others in the audience seemed to have the same idea, a raven haired woman and a scrawny ginger man. The woman huddled behind a _Les Mis _barricade of overturned chairs jotting down notes while the man snapped pictures.

Crewcut aimed his hand at Peter. He was wearing a gauntlet that Peter recognized all too well. It was basically a glorified air canon except it hit with the force of a bazooka. The man sneered as he aimed the weapon at Peter.

“Freaking mutie lover.”

Spidey-sense went off again and Peter threw himself to the floor. It turned out he need not have bothered. Luke’s unbreakable fist collided with Crewcut’s jaw, making him do a pirouette before stumbling against the wall. To Peter’s amazement, he stayed on his feet. A smack from Luke usually knocked a guy right out.

“Do I know you?” Luke asked, popping an eyebrow upwards.

“I’d doubt it” the man sneered. He cracked his neck and took aim again with the gauntlet.

There wasn’t a lot of room to act, especially with two reporters, Supergirl, and Peter’s ginger doppelganger in the room. Still, there was also not a lot of room not to act, morally speaking. Peter crawled along the floor, off the raised speaker’s platform and behind a pile of chairs. Betty stared at him, mouth agape.

Supergirl said nothing. One minute she was behind Luke, the next she was beside Crewcut, taking hold of the gauntlet. She squeezed and Peter’s spidey-sense nearly floored him. There was no time to come up with a better plan. He kicked the chairs with all his strength and hoped it looked like something a vaguely fit former high school nerd could pull off. The chairs took Crewcut’s feet out from under him and shocker Supergirl enough to release the gauntlet.

She stared at Peter, confused, maybe suspicious, definitely upset. _Yep_, that was how Peter was used to being looked at.

“It’s Shocker Tech” he yelled.

Luke’s face lit up with understanding. “You can’t crush the gauntlet or else the whole thing blows.”

Crewcut pushed himself to his feet with a speed and grace that did not seem quite human and leveled off the gauntlet at Luke and Supergirl.

“Not that you’ll be around long enough to—”

Peter took Crewcut in a flying tackle that—to all present—looked wild and uncoordinated. This was because it was wild and uncoordinated. Lack of sleep and presentation jitters had chipped away at the mental walls that usually kept Peter’s spidey-sense from turning debilitating. He got his arms around Crewcut’s neck and they both went tumbling down.

When they landed Peter’s back was to the window. Crewcut’s back was to the remains of the podium, and the gauntlet was pointed straight at Peter’s face. Peter’s hand lashed out and took hold of the nearest thing to him—the photographer’s camera.

“Nice lens” Peter said, not as a quip, but as a show of genuine admiration. The tiny part of his kind not concentrating on the fight idly mused that he should get back into photography, at least as a hobby. He missed it.

The picture he took of Crewcut wouldn’t pass muster for any galleries, but then again, that was not really the point, The point was that this model had a hell of a flash and hopefully it sent stars into Crewcut’s eyes and threw off his aim.

Peter prayed it did, because as Crewcut recoiled Peter heard the vacuum cleaner whir of the gauntlet firing up.

The next thing he knew he was flying out over Manhattan and Crewcut was along for the ride. He had stuck his hand to Crewcut’s shirt just as the explosion went off, sending them both through the outer wall of the Baxter Building. The cleared the next tallest building in a single bound and went right through the roof of an abandoned warehouse several blocks from where they had started.

Peter lost his grip on Crewcut as they crashed through the second floor from the top and he slid across rubbish and through what he had to assume was _something’s _urine and feces until he came to a stop against a bank of unused desks. Before there was time for the cartoon birds to stop circling a blue and red missile came through the roof and landed right in front of him. He stared up at her and tried to hear what she was saying over the ringing in his ears.

“—Should be dead.”

Peter swatted at the cartoon birds. “Whay?”

“You should be dead.”

Peter shrugged, which hurt more than usual. “I’m a New Yorker” He said and then immediately winced. Thank goodness nobody who knew he was Spider-Man had been around to hear that. That had to be in the top five lamest excuses he’d ever given for anything. Deb would never let him hear the end of it.

There was the spidey-sense again. A blurry shape emerged from the rubble behind Supergirl. She spun around and her cape did a dramatic flapping thing that was looked entirely too cool for this venue. Crewcut cracked his neck and discarded the sparking gauntlet. The last blast must have overloaded it.

“You know, I don’t like maniacs who attack people at the best of times, but I really don’t like people who assault journalists.” She took a step that seemed to move her about six yards and grabbed Crewcut by the shirtfront. She lifted him off the ground and the corners of her eyes turned red.

Crewcut grinned. Something was wrong. She had him. Peter was safe. The gauntlet was down. Why was the spidey-sense still going? Crewcut’s shirt caught fire. At first Peter thought Supergirl was burning it. He had read she and her cousin could do that with their eyes, but she looked just as shocked as Peter. As the fabric burned away it revealed a metal chest-plate, which accounted for the odd tight spots under the shirt. In the center of the chest-plate there was a window, like the lens on Iron Man’s arc reactor, and just beneath the little window was a jagged green stone pulsing with a steady light.

Supergirl dropped Crewcut and staggered back. Crewcut raised his right arm and a little gun barrel popped out from beneath the skin behind his knuckles— easily one of the grossest things Peter had ever seen. Then there was the sonic _clap_ of a bullet leaving the chamber and Supergirl crumpled.

Crewcut made eye contact with Peter. No spidey-sense anymore, which meant he was no longer in any danger, but Crewcut didn’t know he knew so he put on a show of being scared. It was not entirely difficult.

“Hail Hydra” Crewcut said, and then sauntered out the door like he was exiting a Western.

Peter scrambled to Supergirl’s side. She was bleeding out and the bullet was pretty deep in her gut. He could tell because it was glowing like the rock in that guy’s chest. He needed to get her help. The Baxter Building would have gone into auto-lockdown after the attack and anybody who he could convince to override it was in space. He needed—he needed—

He pulled on his mask and got Supergirl into the most stable hold he could manage. There was exactly one place his panicked brain could think to take her. At least he and MJ kept plenty of first aid supplies around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should clarify that The Russo family mentioned here is not a dig at the Russo Brothers who I have no ill towards. I actually just wanted to name drop Marvel mobsters and included the Russos as a reference to Billy Russo, aka Jigsaw from The Punisher.
> 
> At this point my brain is so jumbled by reboots and adaptations that I honestly cannot remember what the name of Iris' news company in the comics was. I could have looked it up to see if Central City Picture News was right, but honestly it wasn't super important to the story and I like the cadence of it.
> 
> You know, Peter has almost certainly given academic conference talks before, just based on his background, but this is definitely a whole other level.
> 
> Luke Cage is one of my favorite characters. I promise he will not continue to be the butt of Jokes, but I also like the idea of The Defenders not quite being used to the scale of action that the Avengers are and getting thrust into the world of cosmic level heroics...
> 
> ...Why yes, I am still irked that they didn't show up Endgame.


	10. Time to Light the Lights

**The Milano, Deep Space**

“Is that a head?” Hal pressed his face against the window of the Guardian’s ship. Even though he had been able to fly through space unaided for years now, the experience of being in an actual spaceship always thrilled him. He tried to hide it around most of the Lanterns, but he was getting the sense that these Guardians were his kind of people.

The racoon who was not a racoon, and who was called Rocket, perched himself on the headrest of the seat beside Hal.

“It’s _Nowhere_.”

“nowhere?”

“I am Groot.”

Rocket rolled his eyes. “It’s a spaceport. It’s called _Nowhere_. That _thing_ is the head of a Celestial.”

Hal squinted at it. It looked like a giant floating robot skull. “What’s a Celestial.”

“I am Groot.”

“Yeah, it is a long story” Rocket said, apparently in reply to the tree. “Point is, you better make sure that ring of yours is charged up, because _Nowhere_ is—how’d you put it Danvers.”

Captain Danvers grimaced and affected a British accent. “You’ll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.”

Gamora, body clad in a form fitting yellow and black jumpsuit made of pure Fear Energy drifted across the bow of the ship. Against the blackness of space the glowing ring on her finger was plain to see. Her face had been set in a permanent scowl since she allowed the ring to claim her. She was fighting it, fighting it’s influence and it’s power. It was damn impressive. Hal had only ever seen one person manage that, and even the Bat had only worn the ring for a couple of seconds before sending it packing back to Korugar. The woman was made of steel.

“It’s somewhere down there” Gamora said, the ring broadcasting her voice into the ship. “I think—I think it’s not going to let me know exactly where unless I go in alone.”

“Tracker’s all set” Rocket said, flashing her a thumbs up. “You land and we’ll be able to find you.”

Gamora swooped close to the viewport and laid her hands on the glass. Nebula and Quill laid their own hands down, and they stood in silence for a long moment. Hal had always been loud and brash, but even he could tell this was a moment for them, and he kept his mouth shut. When the moment had passed Gamora flew away, shrinking until she was no longer visible. Rocket steered the ship down towards a gaping hole in side of the giant head.

The inside of the skull dome was a massive city with things that could perhaps be called towers, except they were locked firmly to the ground and high ceiling of the dome. In every other respect they looked like skyscrapers, though dingier than one usually saw in Metropolis, or even the middling parts of Gotham. Hal was put in mind of a Brazilian Favela given a sci-fi overlay. Ships and beings of every stripe bustled about in that slapdash way people comported themselves on the very edge of the frontier.

The Milano landed in the midst of a platform overcrowded with ships. Rocket leaped off his seat, slung a rifle over his back, and started following Gamora’s movements on a handheld tracker.

“She’s heading down” he said. “Into the undercity.”

“Sounds like a cheery place” Hal said.

Captain Danvers flung a cloak around her red and blue uniform. “I’d douse the lights if I were you Jordan.” She gave a sidelong glance at Quill and Nebula, who were clipping more weapons that it was generally polite to carry onto their persons. “In theory we’d like to be stealthy here.”

The ring responded at the speed of Hal’s thoughts. It’s glow dimmed and Corps Green and Black faded away, leaving Hal in a plain white shirt, jeans, and his old bomber jacket. He had never put much thought into where his clothes went when the uniform came on or how they came back. Three of his fellow Lanterns and Barry had tried explaining it once. Apparently it had something to do with pocket dimensions. He had pretended to understand so nobody would try to explain it again.

“Air force?” Danvers asked, eyeing the jacket.

Hal grinned. “Yeah. You too?”

Danvers threw up a hang ten sign. “Higher, further, faster baby.”

They exited the ship, Rocket in front, leading them from his tracker, then Quill and Nebula, Groot, Danvers, Hal, Drax, and Mantis. Danvers kept her head on a swivel, watching the people go by. The crowd gave them a wide berth. Evidently stealth was only so possible with a giant tree in your midst.

“So how’d you get mixed up in the space stuff?” Hal asked. “Let me guess, abducted from your plane?”

“Blown up by an alien science experiment actually. I was on loan to a government research facility as a test pilot. Turned out one of our scientists was actually a Kree—they’re a race of aliens we have. Pluscommander Mar-Vehl.”

“Captain Marvel” Hal said, nodding along.

“Mar-Vehl was one of the good ones. The other ones scrambled my head, made me think I was Kree, used me as a weapon. Eventually earth got embroiled in the Kree’s assault on another race called the Skrull. When the dust settled I ended up being the Avengers point woman in Space.”

“And them?” Hal asked, nodding at the Guardians.

“Pirates” Danvers said. “But they’ve saved the universe more times than the Nova Corps would care to admit. I like working with them.” She shrugged. “It’s like hanging out with the Muppets.”

Rocket stopped abruptly, which caused Quill to almost trip over him, which caused Nebula to bump into him, which nearly tripped up Groot. Hal felt pretty smug that he and Danvers had stopped quickly enough not to hit anyone until Drax and Mantis collided with them from behind.

“Maybe throw out a little warning next time” Quill said, regaining his footing.

Rocket ignored him. He was staring at a simple grey box marked with alien symbols. Hal’s ring broadcast the translation into his brain. _Tivan’s Place_. It was at that point that Hal realized that the box had doors, and was not just a box but an elevator of some sort.

“Tivan’s place?” He looked to Danvers and the other Guardians.

“It’s a bar” Quill said.

“And does everybody know your name in there?” Hal asked, semi seriously. It would actually be bad for their mission if the people knew them.

Quill pressed the buzzer beside the lift door and waited as a ticker above it counted upwards.

“We don’t go in much” he said with a shrug. “But we are the _Guardians of the Galaxy_, so it’s not impossible somebody recognizes us.”

Hal thought he detected a certain tone in Quill’s words. “Are you _proud _of that?”

The doors opened. “A little” Quill said, holding his thumb and forefinger apart.

The entered the lift. Groot had to crouch to fit inside. Hal ended up pressed against the back wall between Quill and Drax. He was keenly aware of the guns strapped to Quill and the knives strapped to Drax and how close they were to his skin. The elevator did not so much take them down as it dropped them just carefully enough not to break anything when they hit the ground, but fast enough that Hal felt like a hidden camera might snap his picture as the descended.

The doors opened with a _ping_ and they stepped out into the bar. It did not so much look like the bar from _Star Wars_, as it looked like the person who had designed the bar from _Star Wars_ had seen this place and then design it from memory after a long nap. Hal saw things sitting at the counter that should not have been able to exist outside of the deep sea. There were things that looked to be made up of thousands of tiny insects playing some kind of roulette game. There was also a duck in a three piece suit sipping a martini and sitting across from a dog in a Hammer and Sickle emblazoned astronaut costume. Hal blinked. Given that one of his colleagues was an alien squirrel and he had once fought an earth cat with a rage ring the duck and dog were actually the most normal things around.

Rocket pointed to a door to the left of the bar, guarded by blue men with the kinds of scowls you usually only got from drill instructors. Those, according to the files provided to the Corps, would be Kree and they were wearing Yellow rings and Sinestro Corps suits.

“She’s in there?” Quill asked.

“And I don’t see us getting in without starting a bar fight.” Rocket clambered up Groot so he was level with Hal. “Don’t suppose your ring can give you a suit like Gamora’s?”

Hal shook his head. “Even if I could make myself look like a Yellow Lantern they’d sense the green on me. I’d never get through.”

“Boys” Nebula said, sauntering into the thickest part of the crowd. “You already made a plan.”

“We did?” Hal asked.

Quill grinned wickedly. “Yeah we did.” He turned to the nearest bar patron and popped him in the jaw.

Nebula was more expansive in her attack. She did a sort of pirouette kick that floored several people in the middle of the room. The bar was so densely packed that the falling patrons resulted in spilled drinks and accidental strikes and before Hal knew it the whole establishment had turned into a free for all. He looked at Danvers, hoping for some semblance of logic amongst this crew of lunatics, but she had cast off her cloak and leapt into the fray with aplomb.

She met his eyes, grinned and spread her arms. “Time to play to play the music.” She shrugged her shoulders.

Hal rolled his eyes. It was like hanging out with the _Legends_. “Time to light the lights.” He pumped his arm and the ring spit emerald light. In an instant his costume had replaced his bomber. He threw barriers between combatants who had weapons and tried his best not to get hit.

Somewhere behind him he heard Rocket shout “Quill. Danvers says she wants music.”

“I’m on it” Quill said, ducking a punch. He flung back his coat and pressed a button on what Hal thought at first was another weapon, but upon further inspection turned out to be an honest to god vintage Sony Walkman connected to some kind of speaker on his belt.

An elevator noise sounded, followed by the voice of Joe Strummer saying _“Elevator, going up.” The Clash_’s _Koka Kola _filled the bar, and an amazing thing happened as, apparently unconsciously, the brawlers began to synch their movements up with the music. Rocket jumped from head to head, knocking each being off balance. Groot just swung wildly, almost seeming to stumble across the bar, hitting people by accident. Hal ducked as one of his branches sailed over his head, taking out a purple skinned alien with two long knives.

Hal stood back up and nodded to the tree. Groot nodded back, grinning like a Labrador. Someone took hold of his shoulder and spun him around. He came face to face with a hulking gray skinned alien in gold armor who pulled his close and roared into his face.

“Don’t I know you?”

Hal gagged on the smell of his breath. “Seems unlikely.”

“Yeah I do. You busted me on Archos.”

“Shit.” Hal realized he had, which meant the scum of space had already assimilated. The Grey Alien tossed Hal into the wall. He slid down and hit the floor, head spinning. The Grey Alien started walking away. “Wait” Hal called, staggering to his feet. “Get back here you big ugly….” He trailed off as the Grey turned back around and Hal realized just how big he really was. “You know, just, you were doing crime.”

The Grey pulled a hand gun the size of a small mortar off his hip. “What are you gonna do about it.”

A sparkly fist coldcocked him in the back of the head. The Grey fell forward, clearing a spot in the throng and reveal Danvers floating three inches off the ground and engulfed in a halo of golden light.

“Nothing” Hal panted. “I just said that so she could get behind you.” He flashed Danvers a thumbs up. “Nice one.”

She touched down in front of him and jabbed her thumb at the door. “Looks like our Kree friends have joined the fray.”

Hal smirked. The guards were gone. “Guess there was a method to the madness after all.”

Just to his right Groot had Drax by his waistband and was swinging him around to punch people like some violent carnival ride. He pointedly faced away from that and went to the door. Nebula fell in behind him, Rocket perched on her shoulder.

“The boys can keep them busy,” Nebula said. “Let’s go get my sister.” Before Hal could offer any plan she kicked the door open, revealing a pitch dark room.

Hal got ready to light it up with his ring, but Danvers stepped in first, throwing light over the whole place. It was just a hallway, with a set of stairs leading to a deeper level. The stairs were narrow enough that they had to go single file. Danvers, then Hal, then Nebula and Rocket. At the base of the steps there was a little mezzanine with a stone railing. They crouched down and Danvers dimmed her light. Hal doused his rung as well, bringing back the bomber jacket.

Below them was a stone table. Someone that Hal thought looked human, in a uniform that looked vaguely like a Lantern Corpse uniform, was talking with a massive, bipedal dinosaur in a yellow and black leotard. More Sinestro Corps thronged around the table, embodying various species. Gamora stood towards the back. It was maybe six dozen, maybe more. Too many for them to fight without at least six more Green Lanters. That much concentrated fear energy in a place like this, in the hands of the kind of people who got those rings, they could blow up the whole outpost before Danvers got her sparkly fingers on them. Another figure stood opposite them, hiding in the shadows. Smoke curled from his mouth.

“That’s Yon Rogg” Danvers whispered. “Former Kree military turned terrorist. He’s the one who brainwashed me.”

Hal looked at the human looking fella in the green suit. “I thought Kree were blue.”

“Not all of them.”

Hal pointed to the dinosaur. “That’s Arkillo. Sinestro’s former second in command.”

“Should we shoot him?” Rocket cocked a gun that Hal had no idea he had even been carrying.

Danvers and Hal both motioned for him to lower the gun. They continued watching the meeting taking place. Arkillo surveyed the troops, and something like a human smile touched his leathery lips.

“They’ll do.”

“The best our world has to offer” Rogg said. “Fear mongers to a man.”

His gaze lingered a little too long on Gamora. Hal wondered if the Kree radical recognized her. It might have been something to consider had they known there would be people from her world mixed up with the Sinestro Corps.

“Our bargain—”

“Will be upheld” Rogg said, cutting Arkillo off. “Our goals are the same as yours and the same as our Terran benefactor.” He nodded to the man in the shadows. “The purification of the universe. Just remember what your recruits have to do.”

Arkillo looked pissed. He gripped the edge of the stone table and it cracked. “We will take the shining city for you. Your Asgard will fall as easily as all worlds do to the might of the Sinestro Corps.” He raised his ring in a salute uncomfortably reminiscent of a group of Terran terrorists from back in the day. “In Blackest Day, in Brightest Night.”

The other recruits joined in reciting the oath. Even all this time after Thaal’s death and the end of the War of Light it sent a chill down Hal’s spine. It was an anthem to evil that had preceded the deaths of countless innocents, and a bastardization of the oath that he and every other Green Lantern swore every day in the service of life and peace.

“Beware your fears made into light. Let those who try to stop what’s right, burn like his power, Sinestro’s might.”

“Jordan” Danvers whispered. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

The man in the shadows stepped into the light. He was short, and twisted. He had a loose sleeve pinned up where an arm once must have been, the sleeve of a Nazi Kriegsmarine uniform. A monocle and cigarette in holder completed the cartoonish look. Hal knew he recognized him, and mentally ran through the various faces of Nazi remnants from his world. Zahl. His name was Zahl. He was an enemy of the Doom Patrol. How he had gotten into space was a mystery but what he was doing here was painfully obvious. Even across galaxies monsters like Zahl and Arkillo had ways of finding each other.

Zahl showed yellowed teeth. He looked over the new Sinestro Corpsmen. “Fly my pretties.”

And they did. The ceiling opened up onto a shaft that must have gone straight to the surfaced. The Corpsmen shot out like bullets, led by Arkillo. Zahl said something inaudible to Yon Rogg and then with a snap of his fingers disappeared.

Yog Rogg grinned a self-satisfied grin and made for the stairs. He was abruptly stopped when a blade of yellow light appeared across his throat. Gamora, who had not flown up with the others, but lagged behind in the shadows stepped into view, glowing a sickly yellow. Nebula and Rocket leapt down from the mezzanine to cover Rogg’s path to the back. Danvers and Hal floated down and landed in front of him, cutting off his escape from all angles.

Rogg laid eyes on Carol and his shoulders tensed. “Oh shit.”

Carol smiled and knocked him out cold in one punch. She lifted him by the back of his collar with one hand and started for the exit.

“Come on. Let’s see what he knows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For most of these characters I’m relying on my favorite actor or voice actor who played the role when I write the lines for them in order to capture their voice. For Hal Jordan that meant a lot of trying to capture Nathan Fillion, but in reviewing this I realized I channeled a lot of Andy Samberg as Jake Peralta into Hal’s character.
> 
> I don’t actually think Hal Jordan and Carol Danvers are very similar characters but they have similar stories which makes them fun to team up with each other.


	11. Domestic Bliss

**Queens, New York**

The smell of stale Pizza and herbal tea made Kara, just for a second, believe she was back home. Maybe the Convergence had all been a dream and she had not been shot by a Metallo while defending a press conference. Then she tried to sit up and pain lanced through her side. It wasn’t a dream, and it wasn’t her apartment. She opened her eyes. It was smaller than her loft, not tidy, but not exactly a pig sty. Against one wall was a tv with several generations of game console. Against another was a tiny desk with notes tapped to the wall in front of it and a laptop idling. From where she was, laid up on a ratty, but comfortable sofa, she could see a kitchenette, which was laden with chemicals that probably should not have been handled near food.

Spider-Man, clad in his mask, sweatpants, and a sweater for an Empire State University (no such establishment existed in Kara’s world as far as she knew) clung to the ceiling above her. Somebody less used to superheroes than her might have been freaked out by that. Another person, a woman wearing a hoodie with the hood pulled up and dark sunglasses kneeled beside her, tossing bloody rags into a plastic bag.

“You good?” Spider-Man asked. “Parker brought you here and—”

“Dude.” Kara held her wound and pulled herself into a sitting position. “I’m usually cool about this _tell me when you’re ready_ stuff, but I know it’s you Parker.”

The woman in the hoodie huffed and pulled down the hood and glasses. She was about Kara’s age, with striking features and long, wavy red hair.

“Pete” she admonished.

Peter tore off the mask, revealing a bad case of mask hair and a defeated expression. “How did you—?”

“You fell through a building and lived. Also I was mostly still conscious when you started swinging me here.”

The redhead tied up the bag and left it in the corner by the door. She shook her head at Peter.

“So I need to update the list then. How many is it now? Hobbie, Deborah, Jessica, Luke, Danny, Matt, the whole Fantastic Four, Ben Urich—”

“Ben doesn’t know.”

“Ben knows” she said matter of factly. “And now Supergirl.”

Peter hopped off the ceiling and landed in an armchair adjacent to the couch. He fiddled with the mask in his hands.

“Oops,” he said.

“I won’t tell anyone” Kara said. She struggled to sit up, but made no headway until Peter and the redhead got their arms under her shoulders and lifted her into a sitting position. “Besides, our worlds are going to be separate again soon anyway.” She realized she was wearing a t-shirt for the _Midtown High Drama Club_. She lifted the bottom of the shirt slightly and touched her fingers to bandages wrapped around her midsection. It stung, but not as much as it could have.

Peter nodded at the redhead. “This is my wife Mary Jane. She stitched you up.”

“Not actually stitched” Mary Jane said. “I tried but after I got those glowy shards out the needle couldn’t get through your skin. So I glued the wound closed and wrapped you up tight.”

Kara lowered the shirt. “Thank you.” She looked around. “The, uh, glowy shards—”

“In a led box in my safe. I figured they were a weakness of yours….which is scary because the guy who shot you with them was one of ours—like, from our world, not a friend of ours.”

“He was a Metallo” Kara said. “There’s a few in our world. What he shot me with, it’s called Kryptonite. They’re radioactive shards of my home planet. Metallos are usually mercenaries fitted with cybernetic enhancement and infused with Kryptonite.”

Peter took a moment to take all of that in. “Well this one is named Brock Rumlow. He’s an agent of HYDRA. When he shot you, I uh, this was the only place I could think to take you to get help before you bled out.”

Mary Jane came out of the kitchenette with a cup of tea. She handed it to Kara, and was about to tell her it was hot when Kara too the mug against both palms and sipped the scalding water like it was already cooled. Faintly impressed, Mary Jane tossed the used medical supplies into a larger bag and opened the front door.

“I’m gonna take this to the incinerator downstairs. Don’t let her die.” She left and shut the door behind her.

“She seems nice” Kara said.

Peter leaned forward in his chair and stared at the door. “She’s the best. She puts up with…” He gestured to himself. “All this.”

“Have you been Spider-Man the whole time you were together?”

“Yeah.” Peter gained a faraway look, but it only lasted a couple of seconds. “I got these powers when I was fifteen. Started doing the hero thing within a month of that.”

“Young” Kara said. “You apprenticed with somebody? The stretchy man or the—uh…” She scrunched her face, trying to remember the name of the yellow and gold armor man. “Stark?”

Peter snorted. “Apprenticed? You mean like a sidekick. No, no we don’t really do that here. There a few teen heroes, but they tend to start up on their own. I think most of them prefer it that way. A kid gets powers and goes out to do what’s right it’s dangerous sure, but a kid gets picked up by some older hero, then he’s just someone else’s soldier. When I started as Spider-Man I didn’t have anybody. The Avengers saw me as a supervillain waiting to happen. SHIELD just wanted to know who I was under the mask so they could—I don’t know—recruit me or something. Eventually the FF came around on me. And then the other street level folks like Luke and Jessica. But all the hard stuff I had to learn on my own.”

Suddenly Kara appreciated the warmth of the tea. When she had first met Peter as Spider-Man she had thought she detected a weariness to his voice. Now, seeing him as he really was, the weariness was plainly most of who he was. A man who put the weight of the world on his shoulders, and did it without anybody to turn to. Anybody to look up to. Somebody who did what he thought was right even when nobody trusted him.

“I was fifteen when I landed here.” The words came without Kara really intending them to. “It’s the Earth that gives me and my cousin our powers. When our planet died I was supposed to land with him, take care of him, raise him. I was a teenager. I had crushes and schooling to worry about and then my father tells me that the world is dying and I need to be the one to ensure my baby cousin’s survival, but I got knocked off course and ended up in a wormhole. Kal got here first and grew up without me and then suddenly there I was, living in his shadow, and the shadows of a million others. I had people to take care of me. Kal and his adoptive parents and then others but…” She set down her tea. “I used to go to temple to pray, but there’s no Temple of Rao here. No other worshippers. If Kal hadn’t been there to guide me, if Diana hadn’t been there to train me I don’t know how I would have managed. But—” She conceded, “I can also see how things might have been different if I’d have been able to forge my own way ahead instead of walking behind Kal. Still, you don’t ever wish Stark or Captain America had taken you in, given you support?”

Peter shook his head with a surety that spoke to many hours pondering the question.

“I still had my aunt, and my uncle for a little while—and they were basically my mom and dad. I had a couple friends who knew about Spider-Man. Sure, I mean, as a teenager all I wanted was for Tony Stark to come and adopt me, but that was a fantasy by a kid with an idol. Maybe I would have been okay, but I wouldn’t have been Spider-Man…besides, I trust Tony Stark about as far as I can throw him…actually I can probably throw him pretty far, I’m strong and he’s kind of short out of the armor, but you get my point. I’ve seen too many tech company CEO’s throw on a funny costume and then toss people off of—” Peter’s face had turned white and his voice had grown strained. He realized a second after Kara and leaned back, taking deep breaths. “I’ve seen the type” he said, his voice deliberately level. “And I’m not a fan.”

“Amen to that” Kara muttered.

Mary Jane came in, saw Peter in a the midst of calming himself down and went right to his side. She whispered something into his ear and he stood up, sent a line of webbing to his cell on the table, yanked it into his hand and climbed out the window onto the fire escape. Mary Jane sat down in the chair, first watching Peter in the reflection of the TV, and then turning her attention to Kara.

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t set him off” Mary Jane said. “I heard the tail end of it.” She slid down in the chair a bit and sighed. “We had a friend named Gwen in college. She was murdered by the father of a friend of ours, one of Peter’s mentors. He was going to give him a job after graduation and everything. Losing Gwen hurt all of us in different ways, but Peter—it took him to a dark place. He makes with the quips and the smirking but there are lines he’ll never cross—lines you can’t cross when you have power. He looks at guys like Stark and he sees people who have the power, but can’t see the lines.”

“You see the lines don’t you? You remind him?”

Mary Jane shrugged. “I’m a journalist, and before that I was an actress. There’s power there, there’s power in everything. Some people think that just because you don’t have superpowers you don’t have to look at how your actions affect others. Everyone has power, and everyone bears the responsibility for how it affects others. We teach each other that.”

Kara smiled. “You remind me of a friend of mine. I think you’d like her. You and Peter are a lot like her and her husband.” She twisted her torso. “Hey, I’m feeling better. You did a good job.”

Mary Jane smiled and wriggled her nose. “I’ve had the practice.”

She stood and stretched her arms and her back. Mary Jane went to the tiny closet beside the kitchenette and pulled out Kara’s tunic and cape. There was a hole through the side, and bloodstains, but it could be fixed. She tossed it to Kara, who tossed Mary Jane back her sweater and pulled the tunic over her head.

Peter climbed back inside, looking, if not calmer, then further from a panic attack. His expression was still grave.

“We need to get back to your space station. Something happened to the team that went to Greece.”

Kara’s heart leapt into her throat. Even nigh invulnerable and a decade older than her Kal was still her baby cousin, and the reflexive panic of losing him haunted her as much as the memories of Argo collapsing around her.

“My cousin—”

“Is alive” Peter said. She could tell he was someone acquainted with the brand of panic that had gripped her. “Stark’s AI answered the call. She doesn’t like me very much and she wouldn’t tell me everything, but I think he might be in trouble. Are you good to travel?”

“I’d go even if I wasn’t”

Peter had stripped out of his sweats and sweater, revealing the Spider-Man suit underneath. He pulled the mask over his face. He and Kara went for the window, only to be stopped by Mary Jane, who moved into their path holding a led box in both hands.

“And what do I do with this? Radioactive waste can’t just live in our house…anymore.”

Kara found a notepad and pen stolen from a hotel on the coffee table and jotted down an address.

“Call this number, ask for Lois, tell her you’re helping Linda Danvers—that’s my Earth name, it’ll get her attention. She’ll come around and help you get rid of it.”

Mary Jane took the note and then watched as Kara and Peter shoot out the window. They went up to the roof, Kara flying and Peter jumping along the side of the building like a flea. When they were at the top Kara motioned for Peter to stand close to her, then pressed a button on the cuff of her tunic.

“Linda Danvers?” Peter asked as the Boom Tube overtook them.

“Long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, cards on the table, I don't know much about New York geography. I don't know where the Baxter Building is supposed to be (because I'm sure Marvel has an official address) in relation to Harlem and I don't know where it would be in relation to where Peter and MJ live. I kind of thought of them living in Queens, though I'm pretty sure that wouldn't be the most convenient place for Peter to take a wounded Kara, but maybe it is a familiar place Peter would fall back on if he was in a panic.
> 
> I've also built a sort of Frankenstein's monster of Mary Janes here. I actually really like MJ as a reporter in the PS4 game--I don't care if it makes her a little too Lois-Laney. But I've also finally gotten around to reading Adam Troy-Castro's Sinister Six Trilogy and I also really like MJ as an actress/model because I think it gives her something to be passionate about that's her own and not Peter's. So maybe I cheated a little using both. 
> 
> I know plot points should come up organically in the story and maybe this will and maybe it won't (given that these characters are not the only ones with arcs to fulfill) so I'm putting it here anyway. Kara definitely subconsciously reminds Peter and MJ of Gwen Stacy. They don't realize it at the moment, but aside from just being good, empathetic people, a lot of what's setting them off right now is having a wounded woman who looks like their dead best friend laying on their couch.
> 
> I do love the Supergirl show, but I also recently had the opportunity to see the Helen Slater Supergirl movie in theaters and it's...well it's charming in its way and Helen Slater is great. They use her Linda Lee identity from the comics and I thought that made a lot more sense than her using her own name as both her secret identity and Supergirl.


	12. The Sick Bed of Chuchulainn

**The Watchtower**

“No I am not _fine_” Thor barked. “That cur has my Mjolnir and powers which would make Loki weep with admiration. I am not _fine_. I am not _well_. I am _angry_.”

The Atom took a slow and deliberate step back from Thor. “Understood, though my initial question was if I could take some blood.”

Thor looked at the man in the blue suit, taking him in from boots to helm. He silently presented his arm. His gaze wandered as Atom drew the ichor from his veins, but settled on the Superman, who sat across from him in the infirmary, head bowed, broad shoulders heaving. He had not said a word since they returned to the Watchtower, though from fury or despair Thor could not tell.

“You there, man of Krypton. What say you? Are you _fine_?”

He looked up, met Thor’s eyes, and spoke in an even and measured tone. “My cousin Kara was hurt by someone from your world with a weapon from mine.” He looked back down and his shoulders continued to heave.

“Empty night” Thor intoned. “The fiends are working together. You, man of Atoms.”

“It’s actually just Atom” he said, taking the needle from Thor’s arm and plugging the sample into his computer.

“I can no longer feel the lighting course through me. So long as I am worthy Mjolnir never out of my reach. What does your machine say?”

Atom did not answer for a long time. Thor watched his head move back and forth as numbers flashed across the screen. He muttered inaudibly as he worked.

“Whatever he did to Superman is totally different than what he did to you Thor—uh, your highness—I don’t know what the proper form of—probably doesn’t matter right now. It’s like there’s a blocker in your DNA, an antibody that’s attacking the power. You’re um—you’re magic right? That is to say, your powers are what we might classify as magic?”

“Aye.”

“Okay, so while Superman has been stripped of the radiation that fuels his powers, you are being actively separated from your powers. It’s a system that’s evolving as you try to fight it. It’s actually quite fascinating—though of course terrible.”

Thor stood. The Atom was quite tall, probably just over six feet, but Thor was taller still. It was not that he wanted to intimidate the man. In truth he carried a deep respect for all those of Midgard, but he was of Asgard, and his mere presence was enough to make him a god to them.

“Then how may we fix it.”

The doors slid open and Stark sauntered in, clad in t-shirt and jeans, the machine which kept the metal from his heart glowing in his chest. He brushed past Atom to the computer terminal and plugged in a small device. The screen flashed orange.

_“Now this is new boss.”_

“Friday you want to patch me in to the vitals on these two” Stark said, leaning against the terminal.

_“Never seen a system like this”_ Friday said. _“Like it’s…more than just data.”_ There was a lilt to her voice that Thor had never heard in all the times she relayed information to Stark.

Atom put his hands on his hips “Excuse me, you can’t just barrel in here with your very cool AI and—”

The lenses of Stark’s glasses flashed orange. He looked at Superman, who lifted his head to make eye contact. Thor was struck by how much of an effort it seemed. Without his own powers Thor was only human, but quite a well built human. This _Superman_ seemed not only depowered but ill.

“What have they done to you? What are you?” Stark leaned closer like Superman was a particularly interesting specimen at a zoo.

Superman narrowed his eyes. There was anger, Thor could see it, but he kept it back.

“You’re the Iron Man?”

“Among other things” Stark replied, looking Superman up and down. “And you’re the Super Man. Kind of a conceited name.”

“I didn’t pick it” Superman replied.

Stark shrugged and turned his attention back to the computer. “You didn’t fight it.”

With a light groan Superman slid from the examination table and stood on shaky legs. Atom went to his side, afraid he might topple over, but he stayed on his feet.

“You know it’s rude to just come in and take over somebody’s work station” Superman said.

Stark smirked without looking up from the computer terminal. “We’ll see what kind of tune you’re singing when….” He bit his lip. “Aha!” He spun around to face them, bracing his arms on the terminal “Tell’em what they won Friday.”

_“There are trace amounts of radiation coming from both of your bodies. An energy signature that Doctor Strange would call magic—”_

“It’s not magic it’s sufficiently advanced—”

“It’s absolutely magic” Atom said.

“The man of Atoms speaks the truth Stark. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Okay.” Stark rolled his eyes. “Well the point is it’s an energy signature we can track.” He began fiddling with the dials. “If you’ll just let me jack into your GPS system I can—”

Something black and shiny whistled past Thor’s head and impaled the console beside Stark’s hand. Thor’s hackles went up. He fell into a fighting stance and faced the origin of the projectile. A shadow had come over the door, black and grey, with eyes that were blank white. The Man of Bats stepped into the room, scowling at Stark.

“I don’t recall giving you permission to do that.”

“Right, because the fate of the world—” Stark made a show of unplugging Friday from the console. “We’ll just leave then?”

Batman stayed between Stark and the door. He folded his arms across his chest. Thor wondered if their two teams would finally come to blows. It _would_ be Stark to cause the rift, he thought. That stood to reason.

“You want to stop Schmidt you let me work Bela Lugosi?” Stark pointed at the terminal. “If we can track the energy signatures we find the source. We find Schmidt.”

The tension in the room was so thick Thor thought he might be able to harness it like lighting. Stark and The Man of Bats stared each other down and to Stark’s credit, he did not back down despite the prodigious height difference.

“Batman” Superman said softly. Thor was struck by how his voice carried even when he spoke so low. “Let him.”

“I know you want your powers back but—”

“Kara got shot Bruce. One of their villains had Kryptonite. It’s getting bad out there. We need to stop this.”

Batman’s scowl became, if possible, more intense. “Oracle patch him through.”

“Thou hadst access to an oracle?” Thor asked, but they all ignored him.

Suddenly Stark’s glasses flashed again. He yelped and moved to take them off before I voice that was most definitely not Friday came out of the computer.

_“Hello Mister Stark.”_

Stark paused. “Oracle I presume?”

_“She’s in the mainframe boss.”_

“That’s—” Stark gave a nervous grin. “That’s not possible.”

_“Well, maybe not where you’re from. I got this Batman. Batwoman and Nightwing are waiting for you in the hangar. Stark and I can handle this.”_

“Is she an AI?”

The lenses flashed again. _“Wouldn’t you like to know.”_

“Keep me posted” Batman said. He was gone a moment later. Thor was not even sure he had seen him leave.

“Nice of you to stick up for me” Stark said to Superman.

“For what it’s worth, I still think you’re rude.”

“I can live with that.”

“But enough people trust you that I will too.” He looked to Thor. “Your highness, would you mind walking me to the Boom Tubes? I’d like to meet my cousin.”

“It would be mine honor” Thor replied.

He took Superman under the arm and shouldered his weight as they left Stark, Atom, and the two magical voices to their work. In Asgard those who fought bravely and were wounded were afforded the greatest respect. Though the way into Valhalla was narrow, much was done before they made their way to Helheim. Even without the briefings by Roger and Stark Thor could tell Superman was a noble sort.

They arrived at the Boom Tubes, which put Thor in mind of the portals of the Bifrost. He wondered if there was a connection. As the portal opened it cascaded with a brilliant light that shimmered in many colors. Asgardian belief taught that the cosmos had formed from the primordial chaos of _Ginnungaggap_, and the Bifrost, like Thor’s own great grandfather, had sprung from this. As the light of the Boom Tube split around the forms of Spider-Man and Supergirl, in much the same way as the Bifrost, Thor wondered if perhaps there was a shared origin point in their two worlds that had created these two wonderous things.

Supergirl ran to Superman and threw her arms around him. “Kal, are you—”

“I’m fine.” Superman winced. “I’m mostly fine. I’m just a little under the weather.” His eyes went to a hole in her tunic. “Kara—”

“It’s alright Kal. Spider-Man helped me.” He smiled. “Him and this amazing friend of his.”

Superman grinned as much as his weakened state would allow. He stuck out his hand. “Then I believe I owe you some thanks.”

Spider-Man took a nervous step forward. He shook Superman’s hand. “Um—you—you’re really tall.” He looked at Thor and raised his hand to his brow in an approximation of a Midgard Salute. “Thor, sir.”

“Your courage is laudable” Thor said. “The both of you. I hope it will serve us well in the coming war.”

Supergirl narrowed her eyes. “War?”

“The Wizards can argue about how this convergence came to pass, but the obvious truth is that Schmidt and his allies prepare to make war. I have had no luck in contacting Asgard.” Thor clenched his fist. “I fear the fiends mean to cut us off from our armies. They scatter us, to make ready for an assault. Mark my words young warriors, before long we shall march to the field of battle. Why else strike a blow against the mightiest among—”

Superman keeled over. Thor caught him before he hit the ground. Supergirl and Spider-Man both rushed forward to help, but Supergirl was faster. She lifted her cousin into her arms. Spider-Man went to his head, which hung limp. His eyes were closed. Spider-Man opened one eye.

“He’s not responding.”

There was a _crack_ like thunder and Supergirl and her cousin disappeared in a streak of blue and red. Spider-Man stood, hand still raised to where Superman’s head had been.

Spider-Man did a double take. “What the hell just—”

Thor knew there was no time for petty questions. He took the small man by the back of the neck and broke into a run for the infirmary. Supergirl was already there, hovering worriedly over her cousin. Stark and Atom flitted from one computer terminal to another, hooking wires and needles into the Man of Steel’s arm. Thor watched, mouth agape. He set down Spider-Man, who doubled over, rubbing the back of his neck.

More members of the Justice League and Avengers poured in. Medical staff from SHIELD followed Rogers, filling the room to capacity. They moved with the grace of healers, ever present, but never in the way of another. Stark and Atom were shunted from the room, but Thor and Spider-Man went unnoticed. Every face, save Supergirl’s was grim, unreadable. Each and every person in the room was focused on their task to the exclusion of all else. Thor had seen this before. The sickbed of a king.

Superman’s back arched and his body went into convulsions. One of the SHIELD doctors ordered the one called Aquaman, the apparent king of Atlantis, to hold him down. The monarch did as he was ordered. All the while Supergirl held fast to her cousin’s hand, muttering under her breath. Thor knew the cadence of prayer, even if he did not know the language. He heard the same word repeated again and again. Rao.

“We should go” said a small voice at Thor’s side. Spider-Man was already backing out of the room. He nodded at the door. “They need the space.”

Thor clenched his fists. He turned and stalked from the room, fuming as the doctors scrambled to save Superman. This was an injustice that could not stand. Thor marched down the corridors of the Watchtower, head swiveling back and forth, scanning the faces he passed. His rage must have been writ across his face because most avoided his gaze.

Finally, he found Stark, sitting on a bench by one of the large viewports, ignoring the cosmic vista in favor of the device in his hands. He was furiously tapping at the screen, eyes flashing.

“Stark” Thor intoned. Stark jumped, startled at Thor’s sudden arrival. His face was pale, and even the glowing chest-piece beneath his shirt seemed a little less radiant. “Where is Schmidt?”

Stark held out the device. For once in the time Thor had known him he seemed lost for words. Thor took the device and stared intently at it. It was a map of some sort, but covered in layers of symbols and lines which confounded Thor.

“Three locations?”

Now it was Thor’s turn to jump. The Batman had appeared silent as Hel herself, and dressed in a similar manner. He peered around Thor’s arm at Stark’s device. Stark met his eyes and nodded.

“Genosha, Argentina, and Markovia.”

“We must prepare warriors” Thor said. “Find me an axe, a sword. You have an Amazon in your midst, surely she possesses weapons of war.”

Stark sprang to his feet. “We can’t—and I cannot believe I’m the one saying this—just go in guns blazing.”

“We won’t” Batman said, and Thor realized just how much he seemed to melt into the shadows.


	13. Get Snart

**Manhattan, New York**

Cars whizzed by. Pedestrians jaywalked. Public transit ran at its usual pace, as fast or slow as the passengers’ moods made it out to be. To all the world it looked like a normal day. It just went to show how the two worlds were not so different. Leonard Snart had seen Central City once bounce back from an invasion of super intelligent gorillas within a week. Given that the other world’s Capes seemed to be concentrated in New York, he had no doubt the citizenry were even more resilient to the weird.

Still, there was an undercurrent of tension. It had been there since the Convergence, but it was only getting stronger. Word on the street was that Superman was in a bad way, and it sent a shockwave through the less charitable among the Capes. The Bat’s wayward protégé in red, the lady with the samurai sword, and some nut from the Other world with a skull on his chest and an arsenal on his back. Snart ran a tight ship when it came to his crew. Killing capes was against the rules on the principle that it brought exactly this kind of crap down on everyone’s heads.

A siren approached and the four Rogues ducked into an alley. They had ditched their costumes but managed to snag their gear when they made their escape. The police were all too concerned with an attack on some place called The Baxter Building. It had made busting out easier than usual.

“We need to get off the street” Rory growled.

“Good job Mick, you’ve a wonderful grasp of the fucking obvious” Scudder replied. He leaned against the brick and let out a long breath.

Rory shoved his shoulder and Scudder knocked the back of his head against the wall. Scudder pushed back then balled up his fists. Snart pinched the bridge of his nose. At least they weren’t using their gear.

“Lisa” he said. “Why don’t you take this one?”

Lisa got between them. “Calm down both of you or I will personally toss you both back to the cops myself.”

Snart sighed. “Thanks Leese that should just about do it.”

Just to Scudder’s left a rusted door covered in graffiti opened up. Scudder jumped back and pulled his mirror guns. Rory aimed his flamethrower. Both Snart siblings let out twin sighs. A thug if Snart had ever seen one leaned out of the door. He wore something that looked like a brown and yellow quilt and a permanent scowl that Snart had seen on enough career guys to know it meant repeated tussles with Capes.

“You’re Leonard Snart.”

“Maybe,” Snart said. “Who the hell are you?”

“I the hell am Herman” the thug replied. “We’ve been reading up on you guys, heard you were loose in the city. Why don’t you come on in. I’ll buy you all a beer.”

“I’m in” Rory said, shoving past Herman and disappearing into whatever was behind the door.

Herman gave the others an expectant stare. Snart grumbled in the back of his throat. Rory was already down the rabbit hole. At worst they would have to save him, so they might as well enter. He led the way past Herman through the door. It took a couple of seconds for their eyes to adjust, but when they did they were greeted with an exercise in contrasts that might pass muster at the kind of fancy gallery Snart would have robbed.

It was bar, with no signage and no windows. There were maybe two dozen people, sitting at booths or at the counter, playing pool, darts, and one of those electric trivia machines. There was a steady beat coming from hidden speakers, but nothing too overpowering. The patrons were what made it memorable. Every one of them was clearly a hood like Snart and his crew. There was a guy in a padded green suit with a fishbowl on the table in front of him, a man in a rhino helmet, a matador, and a few more who were obviously in costumes rendered incomplete by the absence of weapons or uncomfortable armored pieces.

A caged booth, like the kind a cashier cowers behind at a casino stood between them and the main room. A board looking woman in coke bottle glasses looked up from a magazine and extended a long painted nail at a sign affixed to the wall beside her.

_OBEY THE RULES_

_No Weapons_

_No Fights_

_No Powers_

Rory’s flamethrower was already hanging on a peg on the other side of the bars, tagged like a piece of luggage. Lisa and Scudder looked to Snart. He made a face just to show he was unhappy with what he was doing, and then drew his cold gun and slid it through the opening in the bars. Lisa and Scudder did the same with their gear. The woman tagged the items and handed each of them a pink ticket to retrieve them later. Then she went back to reading her magazine as though hardened criminals had not just handed her highly advanced weapons.

Snart eyed Herman. “So what’s this about beer?”

Herman smirked and led them to the bar. Everyone’s head turned to face them as they entered. Snart had the distinct impression of a prison yard sizing up new meat. Rory was already at the bar with a couple of empty glasses beside him.

“Everyone” Herman shouted to be heard. “These are the Rogues. The crew from the Other world who got hit by the Spider a few days ago—they are also the longest running independent super-criminal syndicate in their world, running continuously in one city despite a dedicated family—that’s right, a whole damn _family_ of speedsters in the city. I’d say that earns them some beers.”

The guy with the fishbowl nodded his head. “Why not. Put’em on my tab Irving.”

The old guy behind the bar grumbled and eyed the Rogues as though bartending were actually a personal afront to his sensibilities. They got their drinks (and Rory got fourths) and Herman brought them to the table with Fishbowl Head.

Snart raised his glass. “Appreciated.”

“I went up against that mutant kid with the white hair once back when he ran with his dad. I can respect anybody who goes up against speedsters. I’m Quinten by the way—though my professional name is—” He put on a ghostly voice that was actually quite impressive in how chilling it was. “_Mysterio_.”

Snart introduced his crew and their fancy names.

Lisa leaned over the table towards Herman and Quentin. “So is everyone in here—?”

Herman nodded. “We call it the Bar with no Name. Most of the Supers respect our privacy enough to let us keep it. None of the big names hang out here, just the ones who are in it for the paycheck. Hell I’m only hiding out in here because that Nazi, Hydra fuck Crossbones ripped off my equipment and tried to set off a bomb in the Baxter Building. I tell you if I got my hands on those schmucks—”

Quentin scoffed. “Oh what? You’re going to take on Hydra?”

“I could” Herman replied indignantly.

“Please. They’d have you down before you got out the door and Hydra doesn’t leave you webbed up to a lamppost after they kick your ass.”

“Oh and I suppose _you_ could do better?”

Quentin took a swig of beer. “I could take out the X-Men if I had the prep time.”

A chorus of groans went up around the bar. The man in the rhino suit spun on his reinforced barstool.

“No you couldn’t.”

Quentin hunkered over his beer. “Nobody asked you Aleksi.”

Snart had watched the exchange with great amusement. He kind of liked these guys. Back home there were the ones like Luthor and Dr. Psycho, who did what they did for grand reasons, and the ones from Gotham, who were, with few exceptions, either in need of psychiatric help or just sadists. These guys felt like Snart’s kind of people. Maybe if this whole Convergence thing ended up permanent they could start up a Rogues chapter in New York.

“You guys all go against the same Cape—or uh Super?”

“Sort of” Herman replied. “Street level guys end up against street level heroes. Most of us have fought the Spider, Daredevil, Iron Fist, Power Man—” He pointed to a booth in the corner. “Drago over there once got his ass kicked by Jessica Jones because he was stupid enough to let loose his fear gas when her kid was nearby.”

The man, Drago, threw his hands into the air. “Like it’s my fault all babies look the same?”

“She was carrying the baby man” said a woman in a shiny green and purple suit.

“Well I’m sorry Janice, she’s kind of a generic looking woman.”

A waitress brought another round of beers. Rory took his before she could even start laying them out on the table. Hermann slipped her a couple of bills and she went off back to the bar. The barman grunted at her and jutted his chin. She grunted back and that seemed to placate him.

“What is Hydra anyway?” Lisa asked. “Not the animal? Because we have that in our world. Attacked—what was it, D.C.?”

“Who the hell remembers?” Scudder said.

Quentin opened his mouth to speak but he was interrupted by the sound of the big Russian, Aleksi, dragging his reinforced stool over to their table. He sat down at the end, beside Quentin and Lisa. He had a pitcher of beer in one of his armored mitts.

“Hydra are Nazis” he said solemnly. “During World War Two—you have World War Two?”

“We have World War Two” Snart answered.

“During World War Two there was a cabal of Nazi leaders. Red Skull. Baron Zemo. Arnim Zola. Nathaniel Essex. Von Strucker. They were the leaders of division devoted to—what is term?”

“Deep science” Hermann said. “Giant robots. Laser weapons. Super soldiers.”

“_Da_” Aleksi said. “This division was called Hydra. After war, those men escape. They spread out, forming bands of Nazi remnants. The heads of Hydra.”

“Cut off one head, two more take its place” Quentin said. His voice had lost the melodramatic grandeur he had indulged in before. He stared off into space, obviously a million miles away.

Hermann finished the last of his beer. “I’ve gotten my ass kicked by more Supers than most, but I don’t hold grudges for that. It’s the risk you run. I have two grudges I do hold. Against Norman Osborne for how he dicked me over when I worked for him, and now against Hydra for ripping me off.”

“Well than why don’t you do something about it?” The Waitress had returned. She had the empty drink tray tucked under her arm. A lock of otherwise close cropped black hair fell into her eyes. She pursed her lips and blew the wayward strand away.

Snart’s mouth fell open. His look of shock drew the attention of the rest of his crew, then Herman, Quentin, and Aleksi. Hermann narrowed his eyes at the woman.

“You’re not the usual waitress.”

Snart stood up and started the woman down. “You going to want to get her out of here.”

“You know her?” Beck asked.

“We see each other at the trade shows” she said. “Don’t you usually have a bigger crew? Where’s Discount Joker and Crocodile Dundee?”

“You seriously need to get her out of here is you want any peace from Capes” Lisa hissed. “The damn Bat probably already knows where we are.”

The woman rolled her eyes. She set the tray down and placed her hands on her hips. “Oh for goodness sake, I never give safehouses away. You know that Lisa.” She smirked. “And for the record, I do have permission to be here. Straight from the owner actually.”

As she spoke another woman dropped from the rafters. She was lithe and well-muscled. Even the scant padding on her suit could not hide the bulge in her arms. A little black domino mask, flared at the tips did little to conceal her identity, especially if she walked around with that head of snow white hair. She made a _tone it down_ motion with her hand, showing off claw-tipped gloves.

“Down boys. Selina’s a new friend” She smiled at Selina. “A sort of interdimensional sister.”

“She dates a Cape” Lisa said. She was digging her heel into the ground. It was habit when she got agitated but didn’t have her gear on. “You can’t trust her in a place like this. The last thing we need is the freaking Bat on out asses.”

The new woman rolled her eyes. “Oh dating a hero. Been there, done that. You can trust her. She’s got intel for you. Intel I think you’ll want to hear Hermann.”

Hermann scowled. Quentin and Aleksi seemed poised to back him up if it got violent. Snart would just as soon avoid an all-out brawl if her could. He stepped up to Selina. They rarely crossed paths and he did not care for how close to got to the Bat-brood. Still, she was a solid thief, one of the best in fact. She could pull of jobs on her own that Snart needed the whole crew for.

“What intel?”

“We know where Hydra got your equipment. You work with us, Hermann gets his revenge and your crew gets a gold star from the JLA, get the heat off until this whole Convergence blows over.” She stuck out her hand. “What do you say Lenny? Want to beat up some Nazis?”

Snart looked to the rest of his crew, then to Hermann and his boys, then to the Other world’s Catwoman. Selina made a compelling point, and whatever else she was, as long as you stuck to a code like Snart made his crew she was not quick to double cross. He smiled as much as he ever did, a sort of smarmy lip twitch.

“Where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do love me the blue collar villains and it's always fun to pit them against the truly evil ones.
> 
> I love the term "Deep Science" from Captain America: First Avenger. Like, what the hell does that mean? I mean, from context I get it, but they threw it around like it was a recognizable term. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm not up to date on my terms, but anyway it's a cool sounding term.


	14. Mise en Scene de Fritz Lang

**Metropolis**

The city of Metropolis, which to Mary Jane’s mind looked like the city from the film of the same name made manifest in real life, occupied a newly created space not too far from Manhattan. MJ was able to take the train through Jersey into Metropolis in about an hour and half. She clutched her backpack, with the Kryptonite stuffed between layers of sweaters, to her chest the whole way. She was afraid that at any moment a transit cop might yank it out of her hands and arrest her for transporting radioactive materials through the city. Granted, in her life as a confidant to a superhero and more recently a reporter she had carried around worse, but radiation weirded her out. Her aunt had told her about a story she had seen on the news in college about a little boy who went blind because someone was illegally transporting waste through the city.

She got off at the Metropolis Central Station, which looked like Grand Central if it had been designed by Nikola Tesla. Kara’s contact at the Daily Planet had been brusque with MJ when she called but she seemed to have understood the gravity of the situation. The Cabbie who drove her to the Daily Planet asked her if she had an alien baby in the bag. MJ nearly thought she was going to be arrested again before the Cabbie explained that a lot of people try to drive to the Daily Planet with something they think is Kryptonian, and usually they’re holding their bags just like her.

She muttered something about being from out of town and afraid of pickpockets and then exited the cab, paying the cabbie as she stumbled onto the curb. The pedestrians on the sidewalk parted around her, almost on instinct, like they were so used to everyone rushing around they had a sixth sense about when to move to avoid a collision.

Something else MJ had noticed since she got into Metropolis, there was a somberness about the place. People moved like they were stuck in molasses. The older guys at the bugle often talked about what it felt like after JFK was shot, MJ wondered if this was the equivalent. Superman seemed to be the world’s hero, but judging by the billboards and PSA’s strewn about the municipal structures, this was his home. He was their hero, a big blue flying Sheriff Andy.

MJ went through the revolving doors into the art deco building and took an elevator up to the editorial offices. A skinny man with ginger hair and a camera around his neck stood beside her in the elevator, muttering under his breath as he stared at a picture of Superman. He had the look of a man not really holding it together and using his time in the elevator to build up a façade.

The car dinged and the doors slid open onto pandemonium. Ever since the Convergence the _Bugle’s_ newsroom had been busy, but there was an organization to their busyness. Jonah’s outbursts required a certain caution, even when there was work to be done. Nobody needed to cause any collisions when he was on the warpath. The _Planet _had no such rules. People bustled past people left and right. Some almost seemed to walk right over each other without either party really noticing. Phones rang. Orders were yelled. MJ stepped out of the elevator and nearly collided with a two separate people going in opposite directions.

The ginger photographer sidestepped them like a pro, even as he took one final look at his Superman photo before stuffing it into his pocket. A dark haired woman in a maroon vest locked eyes on him and stamped the length of the newsroom to reach him. _Her_, people noticed. The parted for her like she was Moses and they were the Red Sea.

“Jimmy where the hell have you been?”

“At a precinct in Manhattan” the man said. “Apparently Leonard Snart and the Rogues are—”

The woman whipped her head around to face MJ, abruptly cutting off the photographer. “Who are you? You don’t work here.”

MJ blinked. The woman had a stare that could halt an army. “Mary Jane Watson-Parker. I’m here to see—”

“You’re Linda’s friend” The woman said. Comprehension dawned in her grey eyes. “Jimmy, type up your notes, develop those photos and have them on my desk. I have to handle this.”

Jimmy gave a knowing nod and MJ wondered how much he knew about the situation. He bustled away, weaving between staff and almost getting trampled more than once.

“I take it you’re Lois Lane?”

Lois took MJ by the arm and hauled her to the edge of the newsroom, beside a broom closet. It was one of the few empty patches of floor. MJ figured that was because on this kind of day, nobody really needed anything from the broom closet. The chaos around them formed the perfect cover for them to talk unnoticed. Everyone was too involved in their own work to worry about them.

“You have _it_?”

MJ held up the backpack. “Is this going to hurt me?”

“How long have you had it?”

“Couple hours.”

“You’ll be fine” Lois said. She took a furtive glance around and then opened the door to the broom closet and shoved MJ in.

It smelled like disinfectant and old mop water, which was not the worst smell MJ had ever encountered after being shoved into a room. At least there was an open window to keep the air from getting too stale. Metal shelves of random crap lined the walls. Lois snatched the backpack from MJ and carefully dug through the sweaters to find the lead lined box. She bent down and opened the lid. Green light washed her face. MJ’s hindbrain wanted to take a step back, but the reporter in her wanted to take a closer look. She settled for standing right where she was.

“Are you sure that’s safe?”

Lois grabbed a pair of pliers off one of the shelves and used them to pluck the a tiny shard out of the box.

“If you’re human it’s only dangerous after long periods of exposure. Honestly you’re in more danger from the lead in the box” she said offhandedly.

MJ tried to ignore that comment. She managed to make her legs take her closer to Lois. The other woman peered at the shard, eyes boring into it so hard MJ wondered if she did not have some kind of X-Ray vision too. She set the shard down and picked up another one. This one she stared intently at as well.

MJ cleared her throat. “The shooter was a guy from our end who—”

“Brock Rumlow, Nazi. Kara told me” Lois said without looking up from the shard.

MJ sucked air through her teeth. “She tell you anything else?”

Lois Lane paused and looked up from her work. A smile passed across her face and MJ felt like the woman suddenly knew everything about her, from who she was married to where she kept her secret shame stash of cigarettes.

“She told me exactly what I needed to know and not a damn thing more.” Somehow that made MJ feel less secure. “These bullets. There’s no serial number.”

“I wouldn’t guess. What kind of assassin would walk around with custom bullets that have a serial number.”

Lois shut the box and walked over to a dirty sink in the corner. She scrubbed her hands like Lady Macbeth.

“You’d be surprised. A lot of the people who do custom work like this are saddled with a certain level of pride. We took Lex Luthor down because he just _had_ to be clever about the way he marked his bullets.”

MJ chewed on her lip. “Lex Luthor. He was the tech company guy your Superman put away.”

“Superman stopped the robots.” Lois’ eyes glistened. “Clark and I put him away. But yes, that’s him. He made the first Metallo, and he put serial numbers on all his bullets. It was part of some oblique cipher and in the end his sister was the one who helped us crack it, but it was something. There was a trail.” She shrugged. “Nothing here.”

“Hm” MJ went to the box and picked up the pliers. “We had a guy like Luthor.”

Lois toweled off her hands. “Yeah, Kara mentioned Stark.”

“No.” MJ started laying the shards out on the table. “Guy named Osb—” The name caught in MJ’s throat. An empty apartment and the smell of gunpowder flashed through her mind. “Osborne” she spat.

“I read about him when the Convergence started. Dead under mysterious circumstances three years ago.”

“Don’t believe everything you read.” MJ arranged the shards one on top of the other. The fact that it was crystal meant that the bullet had turned to shrapnel when it entered Kara’s body. She knew she had gotten all the pieces out. Whatever Kara was made of was strong enough, even with the Kryptonite, that it had not gone in that far and MJ had a lot of practice at this. “Osborne liked to play games too. He thought he was smart enough that nobody would ever figure it out.”

Lois smiled. “But someone did?”

MJ fitted the last piece in place, like a 3D puzzle. “No.” She sighed. “No he got sloppy and got himself killed. But I spent a lot of time pouring over case files and crime scene photos after the fact. Osborne liked to talk about the big picture. Things that could only be seen when everything was taken together.” She waved Lois over. An image had appeared when the bullet was reassembled. It was invisible before, just lines that could have easily been wear marks or some technical aspect of the design, but all together….

“Is that—what like an elf?”

“It’s a goblin.” MJ sucked in a deep breath to calm herself, but ended up lightheaded from all the chemicals. “Of course it is. The damn thing’s even green.”

“Green Goblin. He was one of your world’s super criminals.”

“He was Osborne. Nobody ever proved it but we knew—I know. I saw him. Either Osborne is alive or somebody working for him made this.”

“Does that mean you know where he might have made it?”

“A couple of safe houses.” MJ still felt lightheaded and maybe it was time to admit that it was not just the chemicals. Osborne had torn her life apart. He had killed Gwen. Driven Harry to his breakdown. Nearly made Peter break every rule he held sacred. It was a point of real guilt that MJ had never felt anything but complete satisfaction when she thought about how Osborne had been impaled on his own glider. The world was better off without another man like that, and if he was back….

Lois was already at the door. “Okay, I’m going to get my coat.”

MJ snapped back to reality. “For what?”

“The safe houses. We’re going to go look at them right? I assume they’re in New York. I hope the trains are still running smooth.” For the first time she seemed to notice that MJ was not moving. “Are you coming.”

A white heat burned in the pit of MJ’s stomach. She packed up the bullet and stuffed it back into her bag. “Absolutely.”


	15. The Markovia Affair

**Markovsburg, Markovia**

It was surprising what a pair of sunglasses could do. Bruce was being more anal than usual about the team’s secret identities which meant, even undercover and out of costume, Dick and Kate had to keep their names to themselves. The fact that they were semi-public figures, being the young heirs of two of the grand old families of Gotham, would have been an issue in hiding their identities from their teammates, but if the two Avengers were caught up on Gotham’s gossip column they did not show it.

The one she had heard called variously Bucky, James, and Winter Soldier pulled around the corner in something beige and Soviet. Markovia had a decent mix of automobile types, but this was definitely the type to get if you wanted to go under the radar. The one who had been called Black Widow sat in the backseat, also wearing sunglasses. They were all wearing sunglasses and the sun was barely out. This mission was off to a fabulous start.

“Got to love Markovia in the springtime” Dick said, sliding into the backseat and throwing his backpack at his feet.

“It’s October” Black Widow said.

“Yeah, and it’s dismal, but Markovia in the Spring is lovely.”

“Is he always this chatty?” Natasha asked.

Kate squeezed into the front passenger seat, looked for a seatbelt, found none, and just shut the door.

“Pretty much. He’s not exactly one for covert operations.”

“So why is he here?” Winter Soldier asked.

“He’s the only one who speaks Markovian.”

“Well this mission is off to a fabulous start” Black Widow said as the peeled away from the curb.

They joined the sparse flow of traffic working through Markov square. Almost nobody was out and the few that were brave enough to meet the weather head on had bundled themselves in near Arctic level cold wear. Rain had been falling in intermittent bursts the whole day, often swept sideways by heavy winds. On a high rooftop a woman in a babushka yanked shutters closed against the gale. Kate saw Black Widow flick her eyes upwards momentarily.

Winter soldier circled in the roundabout, giving Kate a good view of the statue of St. Vaclav that rested in the square, the Royal Palace that fronted it. She had seen pictures of the palace and statue at Point Rock, photos taken by the men of Easy Company when they liberated Markovia from the Nazis. The gold filigree had been stripped away in those pictures, used by the royal family to smuggle Jews out of Eastern Europe. It seemed to have been replaced in the intervening years.

They circled the roundabout two twice fully before Winter Soldier finally pulled onto a road. The roundabout was a nice way of getting a look at the square while just looking like lost out of towners. The road they chose led away from the palace and the statue, and any of the nicer buildings in the country. They passed houses with no shutters and sometimes with no doors. Areas that had not recovered from the occupation as quickly as the city center. There was nobody on the street down this way.

“I assume we’re looking for a castle like the one Flash and Wonder Woman found the Hydra base in.”

Winter Soldier rolled his shoulder as he took another left and there was a noise like whirring gyros that did not sound like it was coming from the car.

“Hydra does love castles.”

“But if they were going to try to hide in a place like this there are other options” Black Widow said.

Kate looked out at the dilapidated buildings. It was like a Balkan Gotham. “Psychos love old crumbling buildings don’t they.”

“Amen to that” Dick replied. “One time I—shit.”

All eyes in the car went to him, even, distressingly, their driver, though he seemed to realize what a bad idea that was rather quickly and snapped his eyes back to the road. Dick slid down in the backseat, which was difficult considering how little room there was for his legs already. Nobody else shared his impulse to hide and Kate gave him a look that, if nothing else, proved that she and Bruce were family.

“Something you want to share with the class Nightwing?”

Dick lifted his body slightly and peered out at the other end of the street. A man walked along, not dressed nearly warm enough for the weather. He looked like the villain in some 80’s movie, with his jawline and the blonde buzzcut. It was a testament to Bruce’s training that he recognized him, considering how rarely the criminal element of Metropolis ever went into Gotham.

***

“Metallo?” Black Widow said, eyes raised in contemplation. “The guy who attacked the Baxter Building?”

Kate lowered her binoculars and repositioned herself on her elbows. The cold was biting even with all their patented WayneTech thermal gear. Rooftops in Eastern European slums were hardly fun in the sun at the best of times, but this one provided the best vantage point to watch the building that their mark had gone into.

“This one is the original article. John Corbyn. Former US Military. Served under General Sam Lane.”

Winter Soldier lifted his own binoculars to his eyes. “And he’s a cyborg?”

“With a Kryptonite heart” Dick replied. “But he’s still only marginally less dangerous to us than Kryptonians. Metallo endoskeletons pack serious heat.”

Across the street the door swung open. Everyone dropped low and lifted their binoculars. They watched as Corbyn left the building, a package under his arm. He stopped in front of the door, throwing furtive glances this way and that. It had started to drizzle and with the binoculars it was possible to see the tiny water droplets sizzle as they touched his skin. Kate was not sure how much of John Corbyn was even left at this point.

When he was done failing to see if anybody was watching him he started off down the street, moving at a pace that was just past human. Kate grit her teeth. There was no way they would be able to covertly follow him in the car and probably no way to follow him on foot and still keep pace. She lowered her binoculars and elbowed Dick in the ribs. He flashed her an irritated look, but quickly comprehended what she wanted him to do.

He was gone from the rooftop in an instant—almost before Kate could watch him leave. Just as Corbyn was almost out of their site Dick appeared rushing down the street toward him, looking for all the world like a lost Markovian who was very late for something. He collided bodily with Corbyn and got knocked flat on his ass.

Kate watched as Dick threw up his hands and started frantically apologizing in Markovian. Corbyn, apparently writing off Dick as a threat the minute he opened his mouth, just scowled at him and kept moving. Dick stayed on the ground until Corbyn was out of sight, and then looked down the Barrel of Kate’s binoculars and have the biggest grin and a double thumbs up.

***

“Well shit” Kate said as the dot on the tracker pad finally stopped.

The four of them stood looking up at the gold filigree of the Royal Markovian Palace. Dozens of fancy cars had been let into the gate and folks in nice clothes were escorted into the palace. Corbyn came up to greet the last car personally, dispelling any suspicion that he was in the palace illegally. He opened the door and greeted a man in a pinstripe suit. The man in the suit straightened his blazer and looked around with a smarmy grin on his face, like the whole event was his doing and he was immensely proud of it. He ran a hand along his shiny bald head as Corbyn escorted him inside.

“You got that right sister” Dick said.

Natasha eyed the palace, tapping her leg rhythmically. “We need to get in there.” She went back to the car and opened up the trunk.

Dick scratched his chin. “There’s not a lot of higher roofs, maybe the sewers.” He looked at Kate. “You bring your suit?”

Natasha whistled sharply and waved them over to the car. She presented Kate and Dick with two cling-wrapped bundles. “Brought some for you.” She drew something that looked like a balaclava made of electrical wires out of her jacket and tossed it to Dick. “Your boss says you’re a decent actor. So here’s what we’re going to do.”

While Dick fiddled with the mask, Kate turned over the wrapped suit in her hands. She had a flash of recognition and groaned. This was very much not her style.

***

Kate fiddled with the dress right up until they were in view of the palace guards. Every one of them drew their guns which was when Dick raised his arm and snapped his fingers, a wicked grin plastered across his pale face. The guards dropped to the floor in convulsions. On a far rooftop she imagined Winter Soldier loading fresh shock pellets into his rifle—Widow’s Stings, he had called them.

“Think this’ll work?” Kate asked as they made it to the main palace doors.

Dick cracked his neck. “Guess we’ll see.” He did a little flourish with his fingers at the corner of his mouth. “Smiles up.” As Kate fell into character Dick lifted his leg and kicked the doors of the Markovian Palace open.

The steady music that had been coming from inside stopped abruptly as all the pretty and rich faces in the ballroom turned to stare slack-jawed at the new arrivals. Dick strutted in like a rooster. This came a little more naturally to him. He was, after all, a performer. Kate did her best to channel her sister. It was the closest she could manage to the character Natasha had assigned her.

“Hello ladies and gentlemen” Dick said, affecting a cadence somehow stilted and lilting at once. “Sorry we’re late. I imagine our invitation was lost in the mail.” He punctuated that non-joke with a little giggle that was far too close to the real thing.

Kate draped her arms across his shoulder and let her head loll to the side like someone had snapped her neck. She eyed the partygoers like she might pounce and murder any of them at any time. Considering it was a room full of Nazis, this was not a terribly difficult headspace to get into.

The crowd seemed to get their message. A wide circle formed around them in the shimmering amber coated ballroom. Guards in traditional Markovian military uniforms lifted modern assault rifles, which was a fun study in contrasts that Kate’s sister probably would have laughed at, so she let out a little giggle of her own.

A hand went up and the guns lowered only slightly. Lex Luthor’s bald pate had a sheen under the lights. He made a _tone it down_ gesture and stepped into the clear space on the ballroom floor. She would give him this, Lex Luthor was brave. Of course it probably helped that Corbyn was right behind him, gyros whirring.

“Hello Jack”

Dick grinned wider and the holo-mask followed suit, splitting the white face with a gash of red lips and yellowed teeth. Kate wanted to yack at the idea that anybody had paid enough attention to Joker’s face to make that mask.

“Lexy old boy” Dick said like he was greeting an old school friend. “How’s tricks?” As Lex opened his mouth to answer, Dick lurched forward, taking up the center of the circle. Kate hung back and tried to look like a dotty moll instead of a soldier preparing for a fight. “That was a rhetorical question. Listen, Lexy I was very upset not to get an invitation to your little team up. I mean, you brought the emerald terminator” He swept his hand with a flourish and pointed at Corbyn. “But no RSVP for old Joker.”

Lex put on his society smile, the kind of expression that said _I’m sorry if you thought I offended you, but I’m going to continue to do it because it’s really your fault._

“Joker, and Doctor Quinzelle.” He looked at Dick, brow furrowed. “I thought the good Doctor left you for Doctor Isley.”

Kate opened her mouth to speak, but Dick held up a silencing finger. Her immediate instinct was to slug him for it, but she had to admit it was in character for him and punching hkm for it would not quite be in character for her—well it might, but she didn’t have the kind of relationship with that side of Gotham to make that call.

“Oh well you know how it is Lex—or—” Dick looked mock confused. “Do you? I know you prefer to build your lovers. Is the latest model in here somewhere?” He looked around and poked the nearest woman in the arm as if to check if she had circuits underneath.

A shade of angry vermillion creeped in Luthor’s face. A few of the assembled guests began to whisper among themselves. Kate grimaced internally. On the one hand that was perfectly in character for the Joker to say, but on the other, it made it much more likely that Lex would just have Corbyn shoot them right there.

“What is it you want Joker?” Every word was clipped and crisp.

“I want a seat at the table Lexy. I mean, I never considered myself a Nazi, but if this is where the fun is to be had then—”

“We’re not Nazis” Lex said, smoothing out his jacket. “Whoever we ally ourselves with is inconsequential. There is an opportunity for gain here, and for a better, more stable world. I didn’t think that was a cause you would readily ally yourself to.” There was a metallic clinking as several otherwise inconspicuous members of the crowd produced guns and trained them on Dick and Kate. “Also, in the future, you might want to do a little bit of research before gatecrashing a party wearing that face. Joker hates being called Jack.”

Dick’s grin turned decidedly nervous. Kate cursed the dress and the woman who gave it to her. If they had snuck in through the sewers she would have been armored. She covertly lifted her leg, going for the batarang she had hidden away in her shoe.

“Lexy we can talk about this. You know me, I’m—” The guns all cocked at once. A few began to hum—energy weapons—probably supplied by Luthor himself. Dick lifted his arms in surrender.

Lex slipped his hands into his pockets and rocked the balls of his feet. “You know what really tipped me off? You haven’t said anything funny. Would you like to try one final joke before we dirty this fine amber floor?”

Dick looked over his shoulder at Kate. She hoped she was properly conveying how pissed she was at him through the thick layer of white makeup.

“You’ll like this one” he said to her. “A Roma kid and a Jewish lesbian walk into a Nazi hideout.”

Kate slipped the batarang out of her shoe and let it drop into her sleeve as she also lifted her hands to the back of her head.

“I can’t imagine this has a good punchline Dick” she whispered.

Some of Dick’s boyish grin appeared on the Joker’s face. Kate found the effect deeply unsettling.

There were three loud cracks, the sound of gunfire, and a few of the guards dropped to the floor. Kate’s head went swiveling, trying to find the source of the shots. High, up in the damn chandelier—naturally that’s where Dick would place him—was a figure in a bomber jacket with an angular red mask hiding his face. As the crowd erupted into chaos Dick balled up his fists and Kate braced for what was coming.

“Got your punchline right here.”

Kate rolled her eyes and flicked the batarang into her waiting hand. Yep, that had been terrible.


	16. Uneven Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first things first, the story will continue. I have the narrative outlined, I'm not going to leave this hanging. Now with that comforting disclaimer out of the way, I have to report that I probably will not be able to keep updating every Friday. I hit the end of my buffer about three weeks ago and while I've been able to keep up the weekly updates classes are starting again at my University this week. I'm going to try for updates every other week so we'll see how that goes. I'm really trying to build a habit for regular updates in my original writing, I'm going to try to hold my fan fiction to the same standard. And now back to our regularly scheduled program, already in progress.

**The Sewers, Markovsburg Royal Palce**

James Barnes had seen some weird shit. Lifelike androids, Atlantean armies marching across Europe, speedsters, and robots and things that would make HP Lovecraft sue for copyright infringement. He had seen all of this before getting turned into a reheatable assassin and the world had only gotten weirder since then. The one thing that he could usually rely on though, was that there was just the one world, however big it got, however many aliens and planets and hell dimensions he found out existed there was just the one cosmic universe.

“This is just getting ridiculous” he said, nominally to himself, but Natasha nodded sympathetically.

“Which part would that be?” She stepped gingerly over a clump of…well, neither of them wanted to address what it might be a clump of. The sewers under the royal palace were very spacious and obviously very old. They had decent security, but James and Nat had been able to get past it easily enough. They were old pros after all.

“Countries just springing into being that weren’t there before.”

“Regimes rise and fall all the time. Nobody knows that like us.”

James rolled his eyes. “This is completely different and I think you know that.”

Nat just smirked. They pushed on through the sewers, and as gross as it was, at least it wasn’t as freezing as that rooftop they had been stationed on. When Nightwing and Batwoman had gone radio silent after entering the palace the two of them had continued their rooftop vigil, stun rifles trained on the windows and exits. Such silence had not been part of the plan, so here they were, wading through Eastern European feces. The charge of the Invaders on D-Day, this was not.

“Sure,” Nat capitulated. “This is an order of magnitude stranger than most of what we do, but the mission doesn’t change. The entire world could turn upside down but you and me are practical people. Leave the cosmic pontificating to Richards and Stark.”

James cupped his hands to give Nat a boost up a ledge. “Suppose that’s true” he said as she scrambled up and out of sight. He waited for her to reach down and pull him up. He knew the chance of actually contracting trench foot from this brief sewer excursion was slim, but he couldn’t help wince as the water filtered into his boots. Winter Soldier hadn’t worried about this kind of thing. “Nat” he called when it seemed she was taking too long. “Can I get a hand?” No answer. “If this is about making you sit through _The Shadow_ I’m sorry. I was just excited they finally made a feature length movie about him.” James rolled what was left of his shoulder, loosening the joints on his bionic arm. When everything was lined up he jammed his fingers into the concrete wall and used his arm as a piton to hoist himself high enough to get onto the ledge. “I sat through sixteen episodes of _Nu Pagodi_ with you like that was the height of storytelling but…”

James petered out as he came face to face with the barrel of a handgun. A second handgun was pointed squarely at Nat’s forehead. She looked briefly at him before returning her eyes to the gunman. He was tall and broad. A tattered leather jacket, crimson hoodie, and cargo pants hung over what looked like state of the art ballistic armor. A featureless red mask stared at the pair of them.

“Hi” James said, getting slowly to his feet. The gunman raised the gun to keep it level with James’ head. “Popular sewer isn’t it?”

“Are you Markovian?” Nat asked. She repeated the question in Russian, which was not the language here but what the hell.

“You’re Black Widow and Winter Soldier” The man said. There must have been some kind of voice scrambler in the mask because his words came through tinny and hollow.

“And you are?” James said, now wishing that he had taken up Stark’s offer of getting some kind of gadget installed in the arm.

The gunman lowered his arms but did not holster the guns. James had half a mind to bum rush him, but that might come across as acting in bad faith at the moment.

“I’m with the Bats.”

James traded a glance with Nat.

“You weren’t in the briefing” Nate said.

“And the deal was that we keep our teams equal” James added, trying to judge how fast he could get his metal arm up before this guy fired. “How do we know you’re telling the truth?”

The gunman made grunting noise that sounded like it went along with an otherwise unseen eyeroll. He opened his jacket slightly with the barrel of one of his pistols (which was, among other things, reckless gun usage) to show off the Bat symbol on his armor. It looked like it had been clumsily stenciled on with spray-paint.

“That doesn’t actually prove anything” Nat said.

“Gah, look” The gunman snapped. “We can sit here doing the bullshit mistaken identity argument or we can go in there and really fuck up these Nazis’ day.”

***

James got the guard closest to him in a chokehold and used him as a shield as the other guards rounded on him. A hail of machine gun fire went up and James shoved the guard at his fellows as he dove behind a buffet table. Caviar went flying, coating the shiny floor. Across the room Nat dropped into a slide like a ballplayer and took two guards’ legs out from under them. Red Hood popped off shots from the chandelier—which, to James, confirmed that he had to be with the Bats, drama queens the whole lot.

“Took you long enough little brother” same Nightwing’s voice over the coms.

“Oh bite me Dick” Red Hood grunted.

_Sheesh_, James thought, what had Nightwing done to deserve getting addressed like that.

A new wave of guards entered the room, decked out in Hydra green and yellow and brandishing variations on the ray guns that Zola had designed way back when. James swatted the table with his metal arm and sent it sliding across the room where it slammed into a few goons. He stood up, cracked his neck, and drew his pistol. _The more things change…_ He fired, getting precision shots that would put the Lone Ranger to shame.

Nat met up with Batwoman, like Nightwing, still in her disguise, in the middle of the room. They fell into something like a ballet routine, throwing kicks and jabs that should have hit the other, but whistled past and struck Hydra goons instead. Nightwing backflipped over them, throwing little disks as he sailed through the air. The disks sliced into the hands of gunmen, causing them to drop their weapons.

A particularly burly Hydra goon stalked up behind him and cracked his knuckles. Nightwing barely had time to turn around when Red Hood dropped from the chandelier, landing less than gracefully atop the goon and pumping a bullet into his kneecap.

Nightwing winced. “You have to be so brutal?”

Red Hood took the kneecaps off another charging Hydra gunman. “They’re Nazis Dick.”

The party closed ranks, James next between Nightwing and Red Hood, Batwoman between Hood and Nat. The noncombatants had cleared out, replaced with several dozen more Hydra goons. They had the party encircled. Luthor and Corbyn had retreated to a high mezzanine and watched with impatient airs.

“Our situation is not improving” Batwoman said, tossing another of what James had just now realized were bat shaped shuriken at their enemies. “This is why I wanted to go in through the sewers.

“You really didn’t” said James and Red Hood in unison.

Up on the mezzanine, Luthor cleared his throat loud enough to carry through the whole ballroom. The advance of encircling Hydra goons halted.

“As much as I detest Joker’s habit of leaving before he knows the job is finished I am on a tight schedule. You’ll forgive me for leaving early. Time and tide wait for no man…well, not yet.”

Luthor and Corbyn disappeared through a set of doors on the mezzanine. This appeared to be the signal for the Hydra hoard to continue their advance. Having encircled the intruders, they did not seem to be in a hurry to kill them. Seventy years and these guys still didn’t know when not to play with their food.

“Someone needs to get Luthor” Batwoman said. “Whatever the enemy is doing here he’s the key. We need that intel.”

“I’m on it” James said, breaking ranks. He felt a hand grab his shoulder.

Red Hood broke from the group too. “Not without supervision you’re not.”

Batwoman rolled her eyes and muttered “the scheming and the paranoia, you really are his kids.”

***

James and Red Hood had little trouble breaking through the wall of gunmen. They cut a swath through the hallways of the Markovian palace, dispatching their enemies with less grace than Nat and Batwoman. Whatever tech Hood had in his mask picked up Luthor’s trail as soon as they were out of the ballroom. They broke into sprints and followed the trail ever upward.

Three floors and several dozen Hydra guards later they found themselves on the roof of the palace, staring down a sleek personal helicopter. Luthor hung halfway out the door, smirking at them.

“You boys are tenacious. I’ll give you that. Mister Corbyn, if you wouldn’t mind.” Corbyn jumped off the helicopter, making a dent in the concrete as his did. The rotors whipped up a wind as Luthor ascended. He waved at them. “I’ll see you in Valhalla.”

“Give me a boost” Hood shouted over the noise.

James took his meaning at once. Maybe Nat was right. There was a utilitarian aspect to what they did. This guys understood it. Here he was faced with a cyborg, a helicopter almost out of reach, and an ally with a bionic arm and he spent no time gawking. He just saw options.

Hood stepped into James’ cupped hand. He had tried this once with Sam and it had only worked because _he_ could fly. He hated to think what the Bat would do if he tossed his man into a rotor. He launched Hood into the air with all the strength of his bionics. The man soared like a missile and caught the chopper’s landing skids. He threw James a salute as he clung to Luthor’s escape vehicle.

That had all been enough to make Corbyn stop and stare, but not for long. He turned his attention back to James, pumping his fists. They made sounds like pistons and the flesh at his joints tore, revealing shiny green metal bones underneath.

James sighed. Another day, another cyborg. He reached back and drew his heavier gun. _The Shadow_ movie may not have been everything young Bucky Barnes had hoped for when he listened to the radio show back in the 30’s, but Sharon and Steve had shown him another movie, made while he and Steve were both on ice that exactly the kind of thing he would have loved seeing in a Saturday matinee. So, like the archaeologist in the Cairo bazar, James leveled the grenade launcher at the other cyborg and pulled the trigger. Time was of the essence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think an underutilized aspect of Bucky and Steve being men out of time is that they were young men in the 30's and 40's and the pop culture they would have liked still survives in many ways today, and not just the Glenn Miller music. Steve was an artist and Bucky was his best friend so they were definitely fans of the comic strips and pulps of the day. I guarantee while Steve and Bucky were catching up on pop culture they were excited to find that characters like The Shadow, The Phantom, Flash Gordon, Little Orphan Annie, Conan, and Dick Tracy all got big budget movies while they were on ice.
> 
> And of course they probably also dug things like Star Wars, Indiana Jones, and the Rocketeer that evoke the genres of their youth. And lest anyone thing Bucky might not be as nerdy as Steve the artist about these things, let me direct your attention to Marvel's "What If?" Comics where a Bucky who is younger than Steve remarks that if Steve had adopted him his name would be Buck Rogers, tell me that's not a 40's nerd.
> 
> I don't know how much classic Soviet animation Natasha and the other Black Widows got to watch in the Red Room, but I do think that after being forced to sit through the film adaptation of The Shadow, Nat isn't above making Bucky watch the whole original run of Nu Pagodi just out of spite.
> 
> Bucky is referred to as James because I'm going off the Winter Soldier/Black Widow comic series where Nat is the only one to call him James. Probably if he were working with Steve here the narration would have called him Bucky or Buck.
> 
> Why yes, I do think that Jason deliberately calls Dick by his first name to antagonize him with the full knowledge that nobody will assume that it's actually his name and that they just don't like each other, letting him both mess with his brother and preserve the family secret.


	17. The House in the Hills

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a little more strong language than usual in this chapter on account of the characters at play.

**Hollywood, California**

Embers smoldered in the gutter, one after the other. Cigarette butts dropped like breadcrumbs leading the way out of the woods. Constantine flicked the last from his pack into the street and watched the burning tobacco sizzle as it hit the rain soaked sidewalk. He breathed in the smell of petrichor and smoke and as he breathed out he recited an incantation in the old language of Cimerria. The burning embers flared up, showing the trail he had come down and illuminating the face of the woman following him.

“I hope you recognize how many smokes I just wasted for that” he called to her.

She stood in what had been shadow previously, but was now lit as though by sunlight, the impossible light of the magic infused cigarettes. Seeing the time for stealth was long passed she stomped up to him, boots crushing the smoldering embers, snuffing out the light and returning their dark and empty section of Hollywood slum to its former darkness.

“What, you want me to buy you another pack?” Her words dripped with disdain. Constantine looked her up and down. He had a talent for recognizing lost souls, not a magical talent. It was just that like recognized like—which was a magic of its own, in a way. She was American, raven haired, and dressed in a black coat, but she was like him in the ways that mattered.

“I’m used to being followed. I’m even used to being followed by somebody who can snap locks with their bare hands. I’m not used to being followed by somebody who can do all that and remain undetected for so long.”

“What tipped you off?”

Constantine pointed to an intersection some two blocks behind her. “There’s a sort of magical web infused into that space. An old school Hollywood Heartthrob was murdered there—well, they said it was a car accident, but break lines don’t cut themselves with Hellfire.”

Something like recognition passed over the woman’s face, but she stifled it quickly and went back to scowling.

“Hellfire?” She said with affected disbelief?

“You’ve got a touch of brimstone on you, just residuals mind. Probably contact with someone who’s been a little further down the path, but it lit up the web like a bloody fairground when you crossed it.” Constantine watched for any change in her expression but she had a poker face to keep up with the best. “You’re that wizard bloke’s friend. _Professor Weirdness_?”

“Doctor Strange. And we’re not friends…we’re…work acquaintances.”

“And he sent you to spy on me?”

“Something like that” she said in a tone that implied he was off the mark, but not by much. She crossed her arms. She didn’t have a lot of muscle, not like the Amazon or Canary, but he had seen what she did to the gate around Hollywood Cemetery. “Somebody told me you weren’t sharing with the class.”

“And what makes you think I’ve got something to share?”

“Tramping around Hollywood while magic Nazis are attacking. Robbing graves and dropping flowers at street corners. I did my homework. You’re…sloppy, but you’re not dumb. So what’s going on? What does this have to do with Red Skull and the…” She paused like she had phlegm in her throat. “The ritual that Strange won’t explain properly.”

Constantine clicked his tongue. “That’s the problem with the high and mighty—the white collar wizards. They can’t explain anything in the Queen’s bloody English.”

She furrowed her brow. “So far neither have you.”

“Right, and why should I tell you Jessica Jones—yeah, I did my homework too. You left a little of yourself behind at the crossroads back there. Married, or cohabitating at least, with the father of your child. You had a little accident of your own—and it left you alone. So a wicked old woman took you in, with a princess for a daughter, and you watched the princess fall into Hellfire and back. Your life’s a bloody fairyta—”

He was off the ground in seconds, with her hand around his windpipe. Somewhere on the street a light turned red and it bounced off her eyes as she bared her teeth at him.

“How do you know all that—and don’t say magic.”

“_Er_” Constantine said—realizing not for the first time that it was very hard to answer questions when dangling by one’s neck. 

Jones tossed him, arse over teakettle, into a pile of garbage. When he managed to extricate himself she was standing with her arms crossed glaring down at him.

“I’m giving you one last chance. What are you doing here?”

Constantine rubbed his throat. “I’m visiting Rebecca Carstairs’ house.”

“Who?”

Constantine started walking again. A light drizzle started and he pulled his coat tighter around his body. Los Angeles nights weren’t usually this cold This was approaching Manchester weather. Something was seriously out of balance.

As he had hoped Jones started keeping pace with him. She waved a hand in front of his face.

“Asshat, I asked you a question.”

“You must be very popular,” Constantine said, shaking his head. “Rebecca Carstairs was an actress in the fifties and 60’s. You know around Rita Farr’s time.”

“Yeah I think those might be people exclusive to your earth.”

“Well that is a shame, because Rebecca made some great horror flicks. Nothing approaching reality you understand, but real chillers. She was going to big—everyone thought so. Just as soon as she booked an A-picture she was going to be big.” They turned a corner and started going towards the hills. “Old Becca had a knack for these kinds of movies because she was, herself, a witch. And the thing about witches is that they have a knack for finding each other. It wasn’t long before she attracted the attention of someone else wandering around LA with magic in his blood.”

“Elden Peck?” Jones guessed.

“So somebody heard me and Zee talking then? Yeah, Elden Peck.”

“I read that on your world he was a serial killer in San Francisco.”

“He made his name in San Francisco, but he got his start here. Peck’s father was an officer in the SS named Edel Nacht. He was one of the Nazis’ top sorcerers—and he made a deal with—well with something from another world.”

“What? A demon?”

Constantine gave her a level look. “Heaven and Hell aren’t the only ones with skin in the game love.”

Jones scowled. “Don’t call me that.”

“Point being, Edel made a bad deal—but then usually they all are in the end. Nacht got dragged away by whatever he had tried to double cross at the end of the war, but his son made it to America. He still had some of his dear old father’s power on him, but he needed a boost. He needed to find and kill someone with enough power to give himself—well—a jumpstart. So he did what any enterprising young Neo-Nazi does when they find themselves in Hollywood in nineteen sixty-nine.”

Constantine watched Jones’ face as the pieces clicked into place. “Oh.” She scowled harder.

“Yep. Granted he faired better than the rest of the family in the end. He killed Rebecca and got enough of a high from it to make a better deal than his father. Relocated to San Francisco and started working on repaying the debt he had accumulated.”

“Yeah, but when I looked up the name it said Peck was executed in nineteen seventy-seven…after he was caught by a—uh—magician detective named Giovanni Zatara.”

“Zee’s dad. Yeah, but you can’t really execute a dead man, and that’s what he was by the end, just a wicked soul piloting a preserved corpse. Zee fought him a few years back, and then all of us—the uh—Justice League of the weird; Boston, Blood, Xanadu, Alec, Abby, and Zee and me of course—we banded together, evicted the soul to Hell and destroyed the body. And that’s where we thought it ended until this all started up.”

“Okay” Jones said, nodding along. Some of her rage had faded, not all of it, but at least she wasn’t boiling over at the moment. “But why assume this whole thing is to do with Peck or his dad? Anybody who’s seen and Indiana Jones movie knows the Nazis were all about magical shit. There had to be dozens of guys like Nacht on both worlds.”

“Sure” Constantine conceded. “But only Edel Nacht had the Tenebrae on his side.”

“Tenebrae?”

“Those shadow creatures your world’s bloke with the skull for a head was commanding in Greece. Those were Nacht’s foot soldiers—well they were Tenebrous the Binder’s foot soldiers on loan to Nacht. Peck never used them as far as we knew—smarter than dad apparently. But with time going all—” Constantine struggled for a word other than _wobbly_. “Arse over tits—there’s no telling who or what might be able to break through.”

They stopped. There was a magic to the winding roads of Los Angeles, ruts bored into the metaphysical plane by the combined wanderings of lost souls. Sometimes when you wandered with just the right intentions it could get you places faster than normal. The flipside was that sometimes it got you places much slower, but that was magic all over. Jones looked around, registering that they had moved from the streets to the overgrown hedges of the hills far too quickly.

Constantine put his hands on the wrought iron bars that seemed to have grown naturally out of the high hedge in front of them. Rebecca had been smart. Cold Iron circled her house, protecting her from metaphysical attacks. Pity it had not been enough to save her from brute force and false charm.

“Could you work this open?”

Jones brushed aside the impossibility with impressive ease and took the bars in both hands. She wrenched them apart, bending them like an old school circus strongman until there was an opening big enough to squeeze through.

“Age before beauty” she said, sweeping her hand towards the gate.

Constantine smirked. “Not gonna argue with someone who can do that to wrought iron.” He climbed through the opening and she followed.

“So just to be clear—” she said as they climbed up what had once been a cobblestone path, but now had weeds springing up from between the stones, causing cracks and fissures “—we’re trespassing right?”

“Absolutely. But it’s not as bad for you as it is for me. Magic demands adherence to certain rules and the sanctity of house and home is a big one. I give up a little bit of what meager magic I have on me by trespassing without invitation.”

“And how does a dead woman extend an invitation?”

John raised an eyebrow at her. “That is not dead which can eternal lie. Dead’s not always dead love. I assume you know that? Who was it that you knew who came back from hell. Not a sibling per say, but something close?”

Jones shook her head and kept walking, pulling ahead of Constantine. “So what are we hoping to find here anyway?” She reached the door and waiting impatiently, as though he was slow and she had not just done that deliberately. “You want me to get this one too?”

“Nah” Constantine dug around in the pockets of his overcoat. “The gate was iron, magic won’t work on it. This is wood and brass.” He pulled out a pocket knife with a half melted blade and slid it into the groove between the door and frame. “This knife was owned by a dead wizard who—”

There was a crash and wood splinters flew in all directions. Jones lowered her leg from the pulverized door.

“You were taking too long.” She pushed past him into the house.

“I was hoping to maintain the element of…surprise.” Constantine’s jaw dropped. The lights were all on. The house was clean and the furniture looked like it had not spent decades collecting dust in an uninhabited home. The chandelier twinkled with candlelight.

“Nice place” Jones said, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her leather jacket and casting her eyes around the room.

“This isn’t real.”

Jones blinked. “What?”

“What we’re seeing, how new it looks. It isn’t real. Something’s here. It’s in our heads.”

And then Jones did something that, to Constantine was very strange. She winced like she was in pain and lifted the collar of her t-shirt over her mouth and nose.

“Something is mind controlling us?”

“It’s more psychic suggestion altering our perception—it’s not airborne you can lower your shirt.”

She looked embarrassed momentarily, but that was soon replaced with a fresh scowl that told Constantine that if he brought it up again she would show him firsthand what she had done to those bars outside. Constantine did not begrudge her the reaction. People like them saw things that really only make sense once but it’s easy to try to impose continuity where none exists.

He pulled out his lighter and a little vile of herbs. He poured some of the herbs into his own hand and set fire to them. They burned quickly, leaving behind a kind of grey paste. He rubbed this under his eyes and then held out his hand and motioned for Jones to let him do the same. She did not seem happy about it, but she allowed it.

“Motherfucker” she said when he was done. She blinked as couple of times. “This is what we’ve been standing in?”

The illusion was still there, but like a hologram transparent over reality. The wooden floors were covered in a layer of mold so thick it could serve a carpet. The wood on the walls and the furniture were rotted and the house smelled powerfully of decay. The illusions still provided enough light for them to see by, but Constantine knew better than to rely on it so he found two candles that were still intact and lit them, handing one to Jones.

“Whatever is here isn’t going to be happy that we can see the truth.”

“What exactly are we looking for anyway?”

“I was hoping to find any sign that Peck or Nacht were involved and just report back to Zee.”

“Yeah, but the problem with that plan is that confirming that they’re here probably means them knowing we’re here. I’ve fought…I don’t know a few magic things, but usually I just throw heavy things at them to stall them while magic people do the magic thing.”

“Well—” John started down the main corridor that led into the heart of the house “—if we run into anything feel free to throw something heavy.”

“The amount of rot in this place I imagine the heaviest thing here is you. How come nobody sold this place or tore it down.”

“Rebecca was a witch and this was her demesne. There’s powerful magic in that already but I have to imagine she left some spells in place to keep people from looking too deeply at the place. Plus it’s almost certainly haunted—even before whatever is possessing it now took up residence—yeah I said haunted,” he said, noticing her shocked expression. “Lot’s of things are and it’s mostly harmless. The Winchester House is full of them and they run tours out of that place. Hauntings are only dangerous when the ghosts are pissed off at a specific person.”

There was a sound of groaning metal and splitting wood. Constantine got the wind knocked out of him as Jones collided with him. They landed in a heap on the dusty floor as one of the smaller brass chandeliers hanging from the high hallway ceiling shattered where Constantine had just been standing.

“I think something here is pissed at you” Jones said, pulling him roughly to his feet.

“Yeah well” Constantine coughed. “What else is new?”

They pushed further into the house, the flickers of their candles and the illusion making it difficult to see much of anything. As they exited the hallway and moved into the library faint music started playing—like an Oldies station being broadcast from the end of a long tunnel. Neither of them commented on it. They had resigned to the fact that they were not alone in the house but they would not give it the satisfaction of being scared by clichés.

Constantine looked over the spines of the books. They were all normal books for normal readers. If Rebecca had owned a spell-book or a grimoire she probably didn’t keep it in the library. Jones was running her hand along the edges of a shelf on the other side of the room. Constantine rolled his eyes.

“Come on, I know this is all a little cinematic but there’s no reason Rebecca would have even needed a—”

The bookshelf slid back, revealing a doorway and set of stone steps leading down. Jones offhandedly made a rude hand gesture at Constantine as she peered into the darkness, waving her candle at the cobwebs.

“I smell something down here.”

Constantine sniffed. “I smell it too. Like…”

“Pennies.”

“Blood.” Constantine placed the candle on and end table and pulled an amulet out of his pocket. He spoke a quick incantation over it and then hung it around his neck. “What exactly are your powers. Are you invulnerable?”

“My bones are a little stronger as a consequence of the super strength but I’m not bulletproof or anything. You got a magic amulet for me?”

“This isn’t to protect my body love.”

“I told you—” Jones groaned. “Then what is it for?”

“Best to keep that a surprise.” He picked up his candle and pointed it at the doorway. “Shall we?”

They went down, with Jones in the lead. The steps were wet and Constantine hoped it was just water and mildew. The tunnel was narrow enough that both of them—neither particularly tall—had to crouch. The music got louder and clearer. Finally a light appeared—distressingly enough at the end of the tunnel.

Constantine stopped Jones with a hand to the shoulder. He placed his finger over his lips. She nodded, understanding. They crept up to the light, streaming through the crack left by a half open wooden door. Jones pushed it as gently as possible but age and damp had created a natural alarm system. It creaked and the sound echoed in the empty chamber.

The room beyond was covered in half melted candles and bloody inverted pentagrams and swastikas. Swing music came from a dusty record player in the corner. And sitting in the center, cross legged in front of a pile of entrails, was a pale, leather skinned, desiccated husk, smiling at them as they entered. 

“Johnny Constantine” he said, flashing blackened teeth.

“Jones” Constantine said. “Meet Elden Peck—what’s left of him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of teamed these two up by accident. It made sense to me that John would be sneaky, that Peter would be suspicious, and that he would go to Jessica to look into it. And of course they occupy similar places in their respective universes, being centered very much apart from the mainline superhero shenanigans and being darker and grittier. TV Jessica even looks a little but like movie Constantine. But I had no idea how much fun it would be to write them together. 
> 
> Haunted Hollywood is one of my favorite concepts and I knew I had to bridge the gap between the main universe and Bombshell versions of Brother Night, this seemed like the most fun way to do it. 
> 
> Rebecca Castairs is a real witch and actress in the DCU, which is fortuitous for me in building this narrative. She's not really anything like the story I told here, but as a concept witch/actress was exactly what I needed. She seems a very minor character but I'm sorry to any fans of hers who don't like seeing her wasted like this. I know fridging is a real problem in this genre but I do love to tell a ghost story.


	18. The Cyclone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another couple of instances of Strong Language because...you know...it's Jessica Jones.

**Chapter 17: Hollywood Hills**

Jessica Jones wanted to hurl. She was not weak stomached. She had seen worse things than Elden Peck, with hic waxy skin, and the hollow sockets where his eyes must have once been, sockets that still seemed to stare at her with burning intensity. She had seen worse things than the way his face moved when he talked, like the words and movements didn’t quite synch up. It was the same impression she got when she watched an actors lips too closely on tv and her brain twigged that the sound wasn’t coming from their mouth. The smell, though rancid, like a rotting corpse left too long in a damp basement, was also not the worst thing she had ever smelled, though it did not help. Nor did the sight of so much blood, but this too, was not why she wanted to expel the meager amount of food she had managed to imbibe while trailing Constantine.

It was that the longer she stood in his presence, the more she could feel his mental hooks clawing at the edges of her consciousness. He wanted inside her head and it sent shudders up and down her spine that she only managed to hide through a tremendous effort of will. She wanted to step over the blood and candles, take this corpse by the neck, and snap its neck—for all the good that would probably do. But she had enough experience with this brand of weird to know that would most likely end badly for her.

“Charmed to meet you Jessica.”

And he knew her name. It wasn’t surprising, but it did make her antsier.

“You’re looking piss poor Elden” Constantine said, fidgeting with his hands. Jessica could tell he wanted a smoke. “Even for a thrice dead man.”

Peck raised his hand to the level of his eye sockets and turned it over as though he was examining it for the first time.

“In due time we will be well again. When the Pithos has been sealed.”

_Crap_, Jessica thought. “We?”

Something rippled across Peck’s face. He stood up, back straight, not the lazy slouch he had affected while sitting.

“_Guten tag Frulein_.”

Now Constantine looked like he was going to hurl. “Bollocks. You’re living inside of your own son.”

“Of that’s gross” Jessica said. “That’s fucking messed up.”

“A necessary evil” Peck, or rather, Nacht, said, his voice echoing over his son’s, more distant than before. “When the Red Skull finishes the ritual Elden and I will have both our bodies restored and deviants like you, Johnathan Constantine, will be no more.”

“Y—you’re not the first to say that.” Constantine stumbled on his words. Jessica glanced at his face. He was sweating. She had known the swagger was a mask, but she had hoped he might keep it up a little longer. If they were going to get out of this, it might not be on his wits alone. “You’ve got us trapped here. Isn’t that when one dimensional cliché bastards like you like to give up all your plans.” Constantine spread his arms wide.

There was a flicker again, and Jessica guessed Peck was back. “Takes one to know one Johnny.”

There was a sharp _crack_ as the door behind them slammed shut of its own accord. The pools of blood the had gathered in low spots on the floor began to bubble and the shadow of Edel Nacht rippled across Peck’s face. He lifted his arm, fingers bent in ways human fingers were not meant to bed, and a haze of purple washed over Jessica’s vision.

The visage of the desiccated corpse melted away, replaced with a sharp featured man in a fine silk suit, his skin the color of a fresh bruise, his veins flowing with a violet glow. Jessica stared as his neck, bent and broken, snapped back into place and his mouth opened, spilling black blood.

_“Hello Jessica” _he said, his voice coming from inside her skull. _“Did you think you had escaped me. Did you think you were free. I hope you’ve enjoyed your little vacation because now it’s back to business.”_

On the distant edge of the world Jessica heard Constantine’s smoke raw voice growling at the spot where Zebadiah Kilgrave now stood. Jessica struggled to hold onto the memory of the scene as it had been when she entered. This wasn’t real. It could not be real because she had snapped Kilgrave’s neck herself and then watched as Clay Quartermain shoved the body into a S.H.I.E.L.D. incinerator.

But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that he was standing in front of her like he had been brought back from the dead—and who was to say that wasn’t what had happened. She knew death was cheep in her world—and men like Kilgrave had a way of popping up again. The world had turned upside down—she had come into this castle with living proof of that. That might well be an undead Zebadiah Kilgrave standing in front of her…

And yet.

Jessica reached out her hand and wrapped her fingers around Kilgrave’s throat, lifting him off the ground. Her lips peeled back and something low and fierce bubbled up in the back of her throat. Whether this really was Kilgrave or just an illusion it didn’t matter. Peck and Nacht had made a mistake invoking him like this. For years he had been there every time Jessica shut her eyes—and sometimes he still was. Seeing him made her sick—true—but more than that, more than paralyzing fear—seeing him made her angry.

The image flickered and died and Jessica was back in the disgusting dungeon in the Hollywood Hills. Rotten fresh writhed under her fingers. Peck’s yellowed nails clawed at her hand, drawing blood, but she kept hold. Jessica slammed him against the stone wall, knocking over candles.

“How?” Peck choked.

His hands dropped to his sides and for a moment Jessica thought she had killed him—or at least caused him to pass out. Then she heard a _snap_ and the wall behind him exploded outward. It was like a scene out of _Star Trek_. Candles and books were sucked out of the newly created hole—into a swirling vortex of color and stars. Jessica’s hair whipped in front of her eyes as Peck was pulled out of her grasp.

A second later she found her feet leaving the ground as she too was tugged into the vortex. Lights flashed in front of her eyes—colors like she had never seen, that she was sure did not actually exist. She saw _things_ floating in the expanse, whipping around her like they had been snatched up by some cosmic tornado.

She managed to twist her body around and saw a slab of brick wall with a massive hole in it floating freely in space. Constantine held fast to the side of the hole and watched her fall—then he let go and fell into the vortex with her.

The spinning of the vortex seemed to slow for everything but Constantine. As he caught up with her she saw his lips moving in rapid chanting. His coat billowed ridiculously around him, slapping his ankles. The moment he came up beside her the cortex resumed its normal speed again. The whole effect made Jessica a little dizzy.

“Hang on” Constantine yelled.

Jessica—assuming her meant _hang on _to him—reached out randomly and took hold of the back of Constantine’s collar. Peck had disappeared, but other shapes were gaining on them—things she assumed must live in the vortex—based on the fact that they had angles that made Jessica’s head hurt.

“You got a plan to get us out of this?” Jessica yelled. The _Things_ were getting closer and Jessica was having serious doubts as to the efficacy of punching when it came to fighting them. Not that she wouldn’t try—she was spoiling for a fight.

Constantine reached into her shirt and withdrew the amulet. It glowed—not like the glow all around them—but a comforting, earthly glow—and a new shape appeared in the vortex, right between them and their pursuers.

It was a house—the kind that sat on a hill at the end of a winding lane—kind of the house from the _Addams Family _or the opening sequence of _Scooby Doo_, and kind of a wayside B&B. It was like the platonic ideal of a big old house and it might be either creepy or comforting depending on how you came to it. As far as Jessica was concerned it was the nicest house in the world, because the _Things_ in the vortex seemed to recoil the moment it appeared.

It sailed through the vortex above them—too far off to reach—though Jessica could not be sure how far. It felt like they had been falling for seconds and hours, and distance had lost all meaning. Sometimes it felt like they were standing still and the vortex was moving around them, and the things they passed were really passing them instead—other times it felt like they were moving along independent of their surroundings.

“Bollocks” Constantine yelled. “It’s too far.”

“You need us up there?” Jessica asked, jutting her chin at the house. “You got it.”

Carol and Peter had both tried separately to explain how they figured Jessica’s powers worked. She hadn’t really listened and didn’t much care. They worked and that was that. She imagined herself moving through the vortex, gliding across it like it was water. She kicked her legs, just once, to make it feel like she was pushing off from the sidewalk—and up they went.

Constantine howled a mixture of shock and elation as they soared towards the house. Jessica swerved to avoid cosmic debris as it rained down on them, like the vortex itself was trying to prevent them from reaching the house. Back when she had started learning her powers all she could do was a sort of guided falling. Even now that she knew what she was capable of she didn’t like flying. It was cold and loud and she couldn’t go very fast—but in here—she would take whatever lifeline she had.

Jessica reached out with her free hand and wrapped her fingers around the porch railing. The wood was warm and smooth, almost like it was a living thing. Jessica tried to push that thought from her mind. Using the railing as an anchor point, she tossed Constantine at the front door. He rolled in midair and collided in a heap at the foot of the door. Jessica lifted herself onto the porch as Constantine tore the amulet off his neck and slammed it against the door’s surface. It melted into the wood and the door swung open.

Constantine practically leaped inside and Jessica was right behind him. As they passed through she grabbed the doorknob and slammed the door shut behind them. The inside of this house looked a lot like the inside of poor Rebecca Carstairs’ house. It was all antique furniture, dusty oriental rugs, and Tiffany lamps. It looked old and disheveled and yet perfectly neat and lived in at the same time—like the home of someone’s sweet, doddering old aunt.

The woman who was presently glaring down at them with her hands on her hips was not someone’s sweet, doddering old aunt.

“John Constantine” she said with all the venom of someone who had met John Constantine. She was maybe Jessica’s age or younger and decked out a curious mix of shawls and amulets. She might have been Middle Eastern or Indian, but there was just enough ambiguity that Jessica felt like she would get it wring if she guessed.

Constantine peeled himself off the floor.” Now I know you said not to come here anymore but—”

He was cut off when the woman’s fist connected hard with his chin, knocking him back onto his ass. As Constantine rubbed his reddening chin, the woman reached down and helped Jessica to her feet.

“Welcome to the House of Mystery child” she said. “I am Madame Xanadu.”

“Oh her you welcome?” Constantine said.

Xanadu rounded on him. “_She _is an innocent in all of this. And she managed to navigate the roots of Ygdrassil under her own power. You on the other hand—”

“We ran into Peck.” Constantine got to his feet and went to a mantlepiece where there was a box of tobacco and a few rolling papers. He rolled a cigarette with trembling fingers. “He’s back—Nacht is with him. They’re responsible for all of this.”

Xanadu looked aghast. “The _Pithos_?”

“And the merging.”

Xanadu crossed her arms and shook her head. She looked worried—scared even—and when the crazy magic people looked scared Jessica knew things were happening that were way beyond her paygrade. Xanadu’s eyes fell on Jessica and she gave a sympathetic smile.

“The bar is over there” she said simply.

Jessica looked in the direction she had nodded and there was indeed a bar there where there had been none before. She went to it—looked over the selection of Whiskeys that might looked more expensive than everything she owned put together and grabbed one. She flicked the top off and drank straight from the bottle. Once she had drained half the bottle she lowered it (but did not put it down) and looked from one wizard to the other.

“Okay, what the hell is going on?”

“The Nazis summoned the _Pithos _of Pandora” Xanadu said.

“Yeah, I know that part. And Peck said they were going to seal it back up. Why? What do they get out of it?”

“That’s what they’ve all been trying to figure out isn’t it? Your Avengers, our Justice League—all the knights of the realm.” At that he flashed a meaningful glance at Xanadu. “Why summon Pandora’s Jar?”

“Take away hope?” Jessica ventured. The wizards stared at her. “That’s how the story goes right? Pandora opens the box—or jar—and all the evils of the world fly out to infect mankind, but hope is left in the box.”

“A story told by the gods” Xanadu said. “Yes—the gods gave her this gift and told her not to open it and the silly little woman did so anyway and doomed mankind with her curiosity.” Xanadu made a face like she had sucked on a lemon. “Your people have argued for centuries what it meant that hope was the final thing in the box. Was it to counteract the evils, or was it the greatest of them all?”

Xanadu swept her hands and a tapestry unfurled along one of the walls. Jessica was not much for antiques, but even she had to admit it was beautiful. The threads seemed to shimmer with a light of their own, and the colors were so vibrant they looked more than real. It showed a woman—and though Jessica would not say it out loud, she thought it looked a bit like herself—opening the jar that Peter had shown her the picture of. It was the exact artifact. Streams of colored light were erupting from it. The rainbow spectrum. Her daughter’s Dani’s voice echoed in her ears, reciting the colors in a singsong voice. _“Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet.”_ Except blue was not in the sequence She could see it glowing from within the jar.

“In our world—as in yours—there is a spectrum of colors and a spectrum of emotions.” Xanadu went on. “Red, anger. Orange, avarice. Yellow, fear. Green, will. Indigo, compassion. Violet, love. And of course hope. Blue. Pandora released these into the world, the _evils_ that the gods feared and hated so much.”

“They were our emotions” Jessica said quietly, more for herself than Xanadu or Constantine.”

“And for arrogant buggers trying to maintain control of a people that’s the worst thing you can give. Anger, fear, will and all the rest of the things that make a populace hard to keep docile. Sure, manipulated in the right way you can use a few of them to take control—but as long as any of them are flitting about in our heads you’ll never keep control forever. That’s why the gods slandered poor curious Pandora. She made humans difficult to control.” Constantine poured himself a drink, raised it to her in salute and downed it.

“That’s what Red Skull and the Father-Son team from hell want” Jessica said as the realization came flooding into her. “Seal up the jar, contain the emotions of everybody on Earth.”

“And beyond” Xanadu said gravely. “An instant conquest.” She dropped her head. “No wonder they need to cause such chaos. The releasing of the emotions was an act of entropy. To reverse it would take a massive blood sacrifice—death on a scale unseen in the history of our two universes.”

“They’re gonna collapse two worlds against each other just to power this plan?” Jessica downed the rest of the bottle. “And we’ll all be too dead to care.” She slumped into an armchair. Maybe it was actually the most comfortable chair in the world or maybe she was just tired, but she felt like she might never leave.

“There are countless other worlds” Xanadu said. “Ours would be the fuel that allowed these men to conquer all of existence. And Infinite empire of evil, and it starts here…which means it can end here.”

Jessica reached to the bar for another bottle. “Well then you should tell the Avengers.”

“Oh I will. I will contact Zatana and Doctor Strange immediately, but I need to know from you Jessica Campbell Jones—”

“I’m getting real sick of people just _knowing_ my name,” Jessica said as she popped the top off another bottle.

“I need to know if you are going to stand up and fight with us.”

“Why?” Jessica rolled her eyes. “Am I the _chosen one_ or some crap?”

“No, you are an uncommonly angry woman with a great deal of power who knows how to aim it properly—but more importantly you hurt Peck and Nacht. You forced them to flee through the roots of the World Tree. This will be a battle for the very humanity of the multiverse. You may not be the chosen one, but you are one more able body to give us a fighting chance—that is the only way we win—if everyone who can stand up—”

“With great power comes great responsibility. Yeah, I know. An old guy on my block used to say it all the time. But here’s the thing. I’m not a soldier. I’m _not_ a superhero—” That was it really. She wasn’t like the Avengers, not like Carol or even Peter. She tracked down adulterers. She fought drug dealers and crooked cops—and she had pulled Patsy out of the clutches of hell, and she had fought vampires with Strange and Blade, and last year when that geneticist Peter worked for went nuts and released a poison in the city that turned half the city into lizard people she had flown over Central Park dispersing antidote. And she hadn’t backed down from any of it—and maybe that had never meant the Avengers payed her a second glance and honestly she preferred it that way—but it was still the world, and Luke and Danielle were still in it. And Carol. And Patsy. Danny, Peter, Matt, Misty, and Colleen. And the thought of any of them turning into fuel for some Nazi’s plan to take over existence caused her blood to boil. “Ah crap.” Jessica took another drink. “What do you need me to do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Jessica Jones turned out to be a lot harder than I thought. Like, I’ve read the original run of Alias and I’ve watched her show, but there is a lot of nuance that’s very tricky with her—especially teaming her up with others. Add to that that my natural inclination when writing heroes is to give them these sort of “realize they’re the hero and get back up to fight” moments that feels a little too openly comic booky for the character—a little disingenuous. I really do have a lot of affection for the character and she is very fun to write.


	19. "And the word is Panic"

**Somewhere Dark, And Cold**

When anyone asked Jason what he saw in his dreams he liked to grumble “you don’t want to know” and then remain silent for the rest of the conversation. What could he say—the Lazarus pit hadn’t killed his sense of humor—such as it was. Really since coming back from the dead his dreams hadn’t been too different than before, it was being awake that messed with his head. When any new face in the shadows could be the Clown. When any object swung at him could be the thing that finally cracked his skull open again. He was good at hiding it, and the mask helped, but the fact of the matter was that sometimes his brain saw pieces of that warehouse in everyday life and there wasn’t much he could do about it. Which made waking up beaten and bruised in an actual warehouse almost blasé in comparison. Besides, Lex Luthor was no Joker up close.

“The Red Hood” he said, hands on his hips, bending over Jason.

There were chains around his arms and torso. Somebody had chained him to a pipe in the middle of the warehouse. There was no point checking for his guns, which would have obviously been taken. His helmet was gone too, but at least the domino mask was still intact. And Dick laughed at him for wearing it under the helmet.

“Mister Clean I presume” Jason said, wincing as pain flared up in his jaw. His memory after grabbing the landing skids of that chopper was fuzzy, but based on this he assumed at some point that he had been struck violently until he was unconscious.

Luthor rolled his eyes and stepped away. Behind him, filling out the warehouse were people in lab coats and hazmat suits. Big computers—or something like big computers—filled whatever space they weren’t taking up. Lex had bought from the decommissioned Bond Villain lair catalogue. Jason thought that when he got out of this he’d give him a Blofeld scar to match.

“You know, I’ve always appreciated how little time your master has for glib remarks. Apparently he didn’t have the good sense to beat the habit out of you and your fellows.” A wicked smile crept across Luthor’s face. “Of, someone certainly tried.”

“Look Lex, you’re not Joker. If you brought me here alive instead of having one of your goons drop me off the helicopter you must want something. So why don’t we get to the part where you monologue, I escape and then I take out your kneecaps and blow this place sky high.”

An Italian leather shoe struck Jason in the ribs. He had not noticed before then that somebody had removed his chest armor and his jacket, leaving him unarmed with nothing but a mask, a t-shirt, and his pants—_shit_ they had even taken his shoes. That never boded well.

“Impertinence. So much impertinence in the world. Something happened when you all showed up. People forgot their place. Oh there had always been crusaders like Lane and White, but people knew how to respect their betters. I was a man of influence and people understood what that meant. And then _he _showed up.” Luthor clenched both fists, apparently involuntarily. “And after him they all started coming out of the woodwork. Oh there had been stories before, but they were just that, stories. But once he made his debut people started getting ideas. They started questioning the decisions of their betters in a way I had never seen before. It’s not the power you understand. It’s how irresponsibly he wields it. It’s perverse, the way he wastes it on the hopeless and the mediocrities, the way he gives them hope—which as we know is the greatest of all evils.”

“Can’t you just post this shit to twitter like a normal—” Another kick to the gut.

“I am talking” Luthor said with the air of a strict homeroom teacher. “You are witnessing the greatest feat of social engineering ever writ on any world.” He swept his arms out at his sides, gesturing to the scientists. “Right now we are coordinating the greatest single military operation in history. And it all starts in Manhattan.” Screens inlaid within the walls flared to life—showing cities, cities Jason knew and some he didn’t—some probably from the other world. Each city had a little timer on the screen beside it, all in perfect synch, all within minutes of Zero. “While you’ve all be chasing answers we have been acting. You see, all great change, be it chemical or ideological, requires energy. The men who brought our worlds together have a plan to generate the energy we need, but they need—let’s call it a jumpstart.

“We’re ready Mister Luthor” called one of the technicians.

Luthor’s mouth split into a smug grin. It was the kind of grin that invited a sock to the jaw by its very existence. Growing up in the Gotham Narrows Jason had gained an understanding that some people were just too smug and self-satisfied for their own good. They were the type that the people of the Narrows maintained _just needed a good ass-kicking_.

“I hope you appreciate what you’re witnessing little bat.” Luthor crossed his arms. “You may proceed.”

The timers hit zero.

_ On the Island of Genosha the sun rises in the West. Katherine Pryde, fresh from a meeting with Gyrich, one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. liaisons to the Avengers, looks up and sees a beam of concentrated energy—a golden light—coming for the island. The populace outside the Parliament building scatter, running for shelter. The forcefields go up but too late for some. Katherine watches the Western Coast become engulfed by the beam. Her blood freezes in her veins. “Not again.” “It can’t be happening again.” _

Jason wanted to shut his eyes, against the glare off the screens if nothing else, but he kept them open. He had to see this.

_J’onn J’onzz sees fire. He knows it isn’t real. He knows it because he can feel the fear radiating from the people around him. They all see something else, a different apocalypse for each and every one of them—but as far as he is concerned Buenos Aires is in flames. He falls to his knees, memories of the war on Mars flooding through his brain—and then, from his mind, on the waves of the gift of Mars, his fears spread to those around him, amplified by his powers. Creator “H’ronmere forgive me,” he thinks. “I can’t stop it.”_

Luthor’s eyes sparkled with manic glee and Jason finally realized something he’s not sure Bruce has ever fully understood, though in that moment he felt sure that Clark knew. Luthor wore darker suits and cracked fewer jokes, but he was, in his way, just as insane as Joker.

_Markovia falls apart. James grabs Nightwing’s arm and hauls him to his feet as the city center shakes to pieces around them. Batwoman yells something over the noise. James doesn’t hear all of it. He picks out words he thinks he understands. “Geoforce.” “Terra.” Names? Weapons? He understands one thing. The yellow light that spread across Markovsburg didn’t cause this, not directly. People had been screaming their heads off long before the shaking started. He thinks about mutants he knows of who can manipulate earth and seismic waves. He thinks what would happen if you struck one of them with the feeling of pure terror that seemed to hit the city minutes before the shaking started. _

The golden light on the screens faded and Jason blinked the spots out of his eyes. Luthor wasn’t even looking at him anymore. He was beaming with pride. Jason watched the continued feeds from the three cities. People ran screaming through the streets. They fought with each other. He didn’t know the specifics, but he thought he understood the gist. Maybe it was Crane’s fear gas, though by the way that light seemed to cause the sudden panics Jason would guess it was one of those spacebound things he had never really paid attention to Bruce enough to know well. The end result was the same. Three cities engulfed by fear, panic in the streets, citizens turning on each other. Just the conditions men like Luthor thrived in.

One by one the live feeds blinked out and the largest of the screens, which had remained blank throughout the proceedings, turned on. A wrinkled emerald face with sunken yellow eyes stared down at them. Even a few of Luthor’s brownshirt lab-techs shuddered at the sight. Jason thought it might be a mask. There was something to the eyes that didn’t quite seem right. They might have been lenses, but if they were it was almost imperceptible. 

“Norman” Luthor said. He clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

“Lex” the creature said. Jason had expected him to sound like Joker, based on the wild grin alone, and there was indeed a manic quality, but it was tempered. In fact he almost sounded like Luthor himself.

“I trust you saw our opening salvo?”

“Hydra is very impressed” the creature disappointingly named Norman replied.

“And what about our deal?”

“The Arks are in place. Once Schmidt and Peck enact their masterstroke we can commence our own plans…that is, as long as we can trust each other?”

Lex’s smile nearly matched the mask. “Of course.”

“Good. Be seeing you.” The screen blinkered out.

The lab-techs, who had been nervously staring anywhere but the screen, trying to look busy but too scared to actually do anything, returned to their work in earnest. Jason, likewise, began his work in earnest. Getting out of these restraints was gong to hurt, but he had to get out, had to get to the League and tell them what was happening. He sucked in a breath, set his jaw, and wrenched his wrist until it snapped. The manacle slid right off.

Time to get to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So regular updates didn't go as planned once the buffer was out, and I won't promise they'll be regular moving forward, but you see, we're still going. I'm still writing. 
> 
> The last time we saw Jason and Luthor I had been watching The Man from U.N.C.L.E. This time I've been watching Bond.


	20. Time to Play the Music

**Space Sector 2814**

Plasma blasts sheered the underbelly of the _Milano_ as her crew were thrown to the side. Rocket, claws digging into the yoke, had pulled them out of the way of the blast by hairsbreadth, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. Nebula ran for the gunner’s chair, leaping over crates of “borrowed” machine parts and barrels of food that were sliding freely across the deck while Drax and Mantis tried to coral them. Quill’s music, which seemed to have acquired a mind of its own at some point, started playing from its seemingly infinite track list. Quill had tried to explain the meaning of the song once, even taking them to a beach planet to demonstrate exactly what _Surfin’_ looked like. Apparently it consisted of falling off a board and being flipped over in a wave. Why exactly anyone would want to do this _all across the USA_ as the song said was a mystery to them all (well Drax thought it looked fun).

She reached the gunner’s chair and was reaching for the threadbare straps when the _Milano_ did a barrel roll and nearly sent her flying towards the ceiling. She clutched at the straps and pulled herself, arm over arm, into the seat.

“Anytime you want to start shooting Blue” Rocket shouted.

Nebula scowled but kept quiet. Once she was strapped in she balled up her fist and slammed it against a button on the cracked armrest. The chair dropped through the floor and deposited Nebula into a reinforced _dura-glass_ pod on the bottom of the ship. An ion cannon was set into the bottom of the pod and a corresponding set of controls sprung from the seat and settled at the level of Nebula’s arms.

In the infinite torture that had been life under Thanos Nebula had been trained to sight her targets and eliminate them before making any kind of observational assessment. So she had blasted three of them out of the sky before she realized they seemed to be flying metal skulls.

Then, looming just into her view, illuminated in a sickly green by its own exterior lighting, was another massive metallic skull, bigger than it’s fighter pods, bigger in fact, than the Milano herself. It reminded her a bit of _Nowhere_, except where _Nowhere _looked like a skull because that’s what it was, Nebula got the impression this ship looked like a skull by happenstance—one of those unhappy accidents that sometimes happened in the vastness of the cosmos.

Gamora, Danvers, and Jordan shot past the gunnery port, trailing yellow, golden, and emerald energy like comets.

_“Is anybody else seeing this?” _Came Quill’s voice from within the ship. _“That’s a giant freaking skull right?”_

_“It’s a Colluan Ship” _Jordan replied. His jaw hung open.

_“What the hell does that mean?” _Rocket asked, his voice rising slightly as he peeled up to avoid a blast from another Skullpod.

Nebula swung her gun around and blasted it. “This is Yon Rog’s doing. I told you all not to trust the coordinates he gave us. It was always going to be a trap.”

_“I am Groot.”_

_“What do you mean you knew that?”_

“_Nebula is right” _Gamora said. She turned to face the ship. Her eyes glowed yellow. “_It was always going to be a trap, but whatever is in there clearly has something to do with the Yellow Lanterns’ plans.”_

_ “What makes you say that?”_ Jordan asked. A Skullpod careened for his head and he did a sort of backflip, and conjured a hammer made of emerald light, which he used to smash the pod to pieces.

Gamora was already flying towards the Skullship. _“Because it’s full of the same energy as this ring.”_

A Skullpod slipped past the range of Nebula’s guns and shot toward the pod. Instinct sent her hand to the knife strapped to her hip, for all the good it would do for her in the pod. But Gamora was there for her. She intercepted the pod in a blew of yellow and sliced it in two with a sword made of pure energy. Behind the yellow glow, Nebula saw the merry cruelty in killing that they had both developed as Children of Thanos.

The _Milano_ did a barrel-roll and Gamora whipped out of view. Nebula tagged two more skull pods on Danvers’ tail and blasted them. What the _krutack_ was Rocket doing? It almost seemed like they were heading straight for….

“Oh you cannot be serious” Nebula hissed into her radio.

_“He’s serious”_ came Quill’s reply.

_“I am Groot.”_

_“Of course we’ll fit”_ Rocket said.

The _Milano_ cut through the skullpods, which had tried to form a crude wall between them and the main ship. The telltale insect zapper sparks as they hit the hull of the _Milano _told Nebula that Rocket and Quill had upped the forward shields. They had turned the _Milano_ into a massive battering ram. Nebula flashed her teeth. She rather liked this plan.

Jordan skirted out of the way, his mouth agape as the _Milano _closed the final stretch of distance to the Skullship, aiming straight for the “mouth.” The sounds from the main deck of the _Milano _were a mix of Mantis and Quill screaming, Drax cackling, and rocket making a low growl of concentration in the back of his throat.

_“I am Groot!”_

“We’ll fit” Rocket snapped.

Nebula brought the guns around and took aim at the balustrades forming the “teeth” of the Skullship. The “mouth” actually did seem to be a hangar opening of some sort, but those balustrades were going to shear their wings right off. Nebula let out bursts of concentrated fire. Violet plasma bolts cracked the obstructions. Danvers, catching on to the overall plan, added her own energy blasts to the bombardment.

Rocket was closing in fast and though the hangar day now resembled the mouth of Reyjak spice addict it was still going to be close. Rocket turned the _Milano _to a forty-five degree angle as the closed in. Suddenly it occurred to Nebula that the gunner’s pod was not going to make it. It would be _that_ close. With no time to retract it for landing, Nebula sliced through the straps on the chair and leaped though the opening above her at the _dura-glass_ pod was shorn right off the underbelly of the ship. The emergency hatch irised shut, sealing the breach, just as Nebula pulled her leg through.

There was a jolt that threw Nebula into the ceiling as the _Milano_ struck the hangar floor and skipped like a stone on the surface of a placid lake before making a final landing and screeching to a stop.

Alarms blared outside. Somebody in the hangar, and possibly currently beneath the _Milano_ had seen what they did. Nebula sprang to her feet and drew her swords. She kicked the button that opened the gangplank and sprinted out into the Hangar.

Bullets and plasma bolts alike greeted her. Nebula leaped into the air, out of the line of fire and sailed over the heads of her attackers. Some were obviously robots, green and purple, with heads like skulls. They had the laser weapons. There were also _Terrans_ like Quill—or something remarkably similar. They wore green and purple armor that matched the robots. They fired the bullets.

Nebula landed in the middle of them and spun with her blades. They were made from a metal mined from asteroid clusters in deep, uninhabited space. Occasionally one of these asteroids would break away and meteorites containing this precious ore would grace a planet. If the inhabitants could find a way to smelt it they could forge unbreakable blades which would cut through anything. Danvers had told them a sample of the metal had fallen to Terra some years ago, but almost the entire stock had been grafted to the bones of various Terran mutants. It was a truly Thanosian act, though not even he had wasted the precious ore on Nebula’s body. She was, after all, replaceable in his mind.

The others came down the gangplank after her. Drax literally jumped into the fray, doing what Quill had once called a “stage dive” with his daggers gripped tight. Rocket and Quill grouped close, firing their weapons together, creating a crossfire that would trap any unwary enemies. Mantis, not one of the group’s strongest combatants, clung to Groot’s back as he barreled through their enemies.

“I am Groot.”

Rocket tossed a grenade that sent robots flying. “What do you mean? Of course we fit.”

“I am Groot.”

“It does too qualify” Rocket shouted back.

As the ranks thinned, Nebula spotted a balcony and a door. If there was anything of value to be gained from this mad crusade, it would be deeper inside, not within this hangar. She sprinted through the crowd of guards, slicing and ducking as she moved, but never breaking momentum. One of the robots stuck itself right in her path and lifted it’s arm cannon. She saw the rings inside the barrel spin as it gathered energy to blast her.

Nebula dropped into a slide, passing between the robot’s legs and sticking her sword straight up, cleaving it down the middle. The two halves fell on either side of her, sparking and leaking fluid. Nebula sprang to her feet again and kept making for the balcony. A flash of yellow light went off to her right and Gamora appears, swinging a scythe of yellow energy through a group of attackers.

“Balcony” Nebula said without elaboration.

Gamora took her meaning. She swung her fist around and the yellow scythe coming from her ring flowed like liquid, turning into a disk and sliding beneath Nebula’s legs.

“Brace” Gamora said, and then used the disk to fling Nebula into the air.

She landed in a crouch on the balcony. The barrel of a rifle swung into her face. She arced her sword upward, slicing off the tip of the barrel. The sword kept moving until it had done to the gunman what it had done to the gun.

Woody tendrils wrapped around the railing and in moments Groot, Rocket on his shoulder and Mantis clinging to his back, clambered onto the balcony.

“Door” Nebula barked.

“I am Groot”

Nebula moved quickly behind Groot’s bulk as a cannon shot went off, blasting the floor where she had just been standing. Flames licked at the sides of Groot’s body, heating Nebula’s metal implants. Mantis scrunched in beside her, and Rocket above her, all three shielded by Groot’s bulk. With a flick of her wrist Nebula’s sword collapsed into the hilt, leaving only a sliver of blade left exposed. She tossed the blade, hilt first, at the wall, where it bounced, angling around Groot. She listened for the telltale _shunk_ of metal piercing metal.

_Shunk_. The flames stopped and she, Rocket, and Mantis spilled out from behind Groot.

The robot had Nebula’s blade sticking out of it’s cannon, which sparked and crackled as energy escaped its chambers. Mantis patted out fires on Groot’s body as he smiled beatifically. Meanwhile Rocket swung his rifle around and blasted the robot into parts.

He turned to Groot. “You okay buddy?”

Groot raised a thumb in the Terran gesture Quill had taught them. “I am Groot.”

“The door Rocket” Nebula repeated.

Without looking away from Groot Rocket plucked an orb from his belt and tossed it at the door. It stuck and beeped for a couple of seconds before it, and the door, fizzled like flash paper. Nebula raised her swords as the smoke cleared, waiting for however many more enemies stood on the other side.

She was greeted by a hall full of bodies. A man dressed a bit like Quill, with dark shaggy hair peeking out from beneath a red hood and a mask like Jordan’s, spun a guard, shoving him into another oncoming guard. As they collided he plucked the pistols from the two guards’ holsters and fired them into the security robot lumbering towards them. As the robot dropped into a pool of oil the man rounded on them, guns raised.

The others had joined them on the balcony and Quill’s blasters whirred to Nebula’s left. They stared each other down, the man in the leather jacket and the red hood, and the Guardians plus Hal Jordan.

Suddenly Jordan zipped in between the two parties, palms up. “Hold on, same side” he barked, first to Quill, then the man in the hood.

The man in the hood slowly lowed his guns. “I literally never thought I’d be happy to see you.”

“Ouch” Jordan deadpanned.

Quill narrowed his eyes. “Who the hell is this?”

“Red Hood, friend of a coworker.” He turned back to Red Hood. “How did you get into space?”

Red Hood’s mouth fell open. “Shit. I’m in space?”


	21. With Very Special Guest...Jason Todd

**The Skullship**

_Space. _Jason Peter Todd was in space. He knew that Bruce had been to space. Dick had been to space. Tim had probably been to space. He would have to ask Stephanie and Cass if they had been to space. Surely he could not be the only one who had missed out on space adventures. There was Hal Jordan though, telling him he was in a Skullship.

“That’s one of those things that shrunk Metropolis that time right?”

Hall nodded.

Then the man in the red leather jacket with the weird mask stepped forward, walking with a deliberate and effected swagger. He holstered one pistol and touched the side of his mask. It collapsed into his collar. Jason tried to hide how impressed he was by that. He’d have to get one of those.

“Red Hood, is it?”

“Yeah, what do I call you” Jason said, tapping his finger on the barrel of one of his stolen pistols. He knew exactly what this was. This guy fancied himself a cowboy, and this was a standoff.

“His name is Peter Jason Quill” said a woman with—Jason did a double take—antennae. She waved helpfully.

Jason blinked. _Peter Jason_…well now the universe was just mocking him. Quill looked put out.

“You can call me Star Lord. Now what are you doing on this creepy ass ship. How do we know you’re not part of the crew.”

Jason lifted his gun toting hands and gestured at the bodies around them.

“Peter, Jordan knows him and we have to keep moving” said a voice from the back of the crowd.

They parted, revealing the source of the voice, a green woman, clad in a form fitting yellow and black jumpsuit and shining with golden energy. Jason whipped his guns up again, which made Quill whip his guns up. Then a racoon with a rifle…Jason nearly broke concentration when he saw that, but set his eyes back on the Yellow Lantern. He could feel the energy coming off of her, the same energy Luthor had just blasted the earth with—like Crane’s fear toxin jacked straight into his brain.

“Whoa” Hal yelped indignantly. He raised his arms, putting up translucent constructs of brick walls between them all. “Kid…” Oh that was enough to make Jason murderous right there. “Kid she’s on our side. We’re _all_ on the same side. Now who brought you here and what have they been doing?”

Jason set his jaw and lowered the guns. “You want to see something nuts.”

It was easy to backtrack the way he had come. All he had to do was follow the trail of bodies. He expected the same moralizing he got from Bruce—the way people talked you’d think Jason was a mass murderer. The truth was he killed when he had to, no different from the Amazon. These folks though, they didn’t seem to mind too much.

“You did this yourself?” The Racoon asked. When Jason nodded he cracked a grin and said. “Badass.”

The stocky one with the knives and tattoos put a beefy arm around Jason’s shoulder and raised his other arm to the ceiling, the tip of his dagger cutting into the metal as they walked.

“This one is a true warrior. We have found a mighty ally this day.”

Jason shrugged out of the beefy alien’s grip and tried to look aloof. He did not much like being congratulated for killing, but he had to admit, it felt good to be praised for once. They came to the door Jason had blown open when he escaped and walked into the now empty control room. The bodies of Luthor’s scientists were draped across their work stations. Jordan gave Jason a sideways look.

“These weren’t me” Jason said grimly. “Luthor did this after you showed up.”

“Luthor?” Jordan asked.

Jason explained what he had seen. How Luthor had unleashed bursts of yellow fear energy onto the planet and then watched with manic glee as three cities tore themselves apart. How he had talked with the man in the monster mask of an ark, and how when the intruder alarms sounded he had pushed a button that electrocuted every one of his scientists to death before running for an escape pod.

“What about Brainiac” Hal said. “This is one of his ships. Have you seen him?”

Jason shook his head. “Just the drones. I think this is a loaner. Brainiac collects cities right. So my guess is that whatever the Nazis have planned for the world, Luthor and this Norman guy are gonna gather up anyone they want to save into one of Brainiac’s bottle cities like some twisted evil rich guy Noah’s Ark.”

“What about the fear energy” said the Yellow Lantern that had been introduced as Gamora. “I can feel a big reserve of it on the ship.”

“Overwhelming” said the woman, Mantis. She buried her face in one hand, eyes clamped shut in pain. She lifted her other arm shakily and pointed to a solid wall on the other side of the room. “Over there.” The tree man patted her shoulder softly.

Jason stalked to the wall. He wished he knew what Luthor had done with his hood. The augmented reality lenses might have allowed him to see what was on the other side of the wall. Though, as he got closer, he realized he really did not need them. It came like a bad flashback. The crowbar coming for his head, the Clown’s laugh. He staggered to the control panel, his knuckles white on the grips of his pistols. Quill already had his blasters up and aimed, but the Yellow Lantern rested a hand on his arm and lowered it. She nodded at the blue woman, Nebula, who came towards Jason, slowly, her hands up.

Jason gritted his teeth and waved her away. “Get back” he barked.

But he was too late. As soon as she got close she fell to her knees. A second later she drew a baton off her belt and with a flick of her wrist, turned it into a sword. Her cybernetic eye flashed yellow. The others seemed to get it then. Whatever was on the other side of the wall was coming off in concentrated waves, worse than Crane’s gas or Phobia’s mind powers. Jason could still hear the laughter. The room was shifting in and out of view, replaced with the warehouse. He saw his family, brothers and sisters bloodied and beaten on the floor, and the laughter, the damn laughter.

Jason forced his fingers to open, to release the pistols and slide them across the floor. Any time somebody got gassed by Crane that was the protocol. Weapons away. He found himself on his knees, fingers digging into his skull. The lab and the Skullship were gone and Jason felt the burning all across his flesh, the cold turn to white heat as his soul was ripped away from wherever it had ended up and thrust back into a body drowning in bubbling acidity of the Lazarus Pit. And all the while, the laughter.

_“Hello.”_

Jason made himself look up. It wasn’t the Clown’s voice, or Ra’s. It was light and kindly with a tremble like the speaker was still not sure they were welcome. All he saw was a blur, like a shadow in the dark, but when it extended a hand he felt soft fingers push through his hair, and touch his scalp.

The burning sensation faded. The bubbling Lazarus pit melted away and Jason found himself in a messy garage. The shadow had gained a shape. It was the Mantis woman. She looked around, plainly able to see what Jason was seeing.

_“Is this your home?”_

Jason did not speak, but he knew the place. It was the garage at Wayne Manor, where, after too many fights a shaky peace had been reached. Where he came every so often to work in silence with Bruce on old cars from the family collection. Where he joked around with Dick and sparred with Cass. Where he gave Duke advice on how to make it in their big screwed up family. He still didn’t like going into the house or heaven forbid the Cave, but he could make it as far as this garage.

Mantis smiled. “That’s quite beautiful” she said.

The garage melted away and he was back on the ship. Mantis pulled her hand away from him and Jason, gripping the console for support, rose to his feet. Gamora was on her knees beside her sister, a hand on her shoulder. By the looks of it she had just been snapped out of it too. The tree man was beside Mantis, hovering over Jason.

Jason did not want to meet any of their eyes, but he muttered a quick “thank you” to Mantis as he faced the wall again.

“Everyone step aside” barked the woman Hal had introduced as Captain Marvel.

Jason knew the cadence of the command like that. He moved himself to the side as, on the other side of the room she raised a glowing fist and let loose burst of light that tore a hole in the wall. Jason flinched, for a moment thinking she might have torn right through the hull, exposing them to the vacuum outside, but the woman knew what she was doing.

Just beyond the wall there was a large structure, twenty feet tall at least, rounded at the center. If Jason had to describe it in Earth terms—his eyes darted to Hal—it was a lantern, a truly massive lantern pulsing with yellow light.

“I think,” Hal swallowed hard, “we ought’a call your dad kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wracked my brains for a good way to bring up that Peter Jason Quill and Jason Peter Todd are both leather jacket wearing, gun toting, cool mask aficionados and have the characters acknowledge it, but the fact is Jason isn't just telling them his name. Bats are trained too well for that.
> 
> Mantis can see people's thoughts in the Telltale game at least, so she can here, because I said so.
> 
> Like Jessica Jones and Constantine teaming up, Jason teaming up with the Guardians was initially unplanned but now I honestly can't imagine not doing it.


End file.
